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STATE 

POSTOFFICE 

STREET  ADDRESS  OR  R.  F.  D.  | 

1 

1 

1 

1 

M 

► ■ - 

M 

< 

2 

1 ■ 

i 

1 

1 

1 

MISS  JESSIE  M.  GOOD,  Springfield,  Ohio. 

I enclose  10  cents  for  a five  months’  trial  subscription  to  The  Household  Journal  combined  with  Floral  Life.  I believe 
the  friends  whose  names  I have  written  above  would  like  your  catalogue.  Send  me  the  set  of  10  Floral  Post  Cards,  free. 

My  Name  .... — — .....Street  or  R.  F.  D.- 

State  ~.~- — .Town  


CARL  BARTLETT; 

OR, 

"What  Can  I Do  ? 


D.  S.  ERICKSON,, 

AUTHOR  OF  “GOOD  MEASURE, ” ET«0 


NEW  YORK : 

HURST  & CO.,  Publishers, 

122  Nassau  Street, 


16  Jan  48  g Jacksonville  pj^ 


£7  3 

Brf^rd, 


CHAPTER  I. 


9ES,  I should  like  to  go,  I cannot  tell 
you  how  much ; hut  it  is  useless  to 
think  of  it,  it  is  impossible,”  said 
Mrs.  Bartlett. 

“ Impossible ! I don’t  see  that  it  is.  You 
would  like  it,  wouldn’t  you,  Arthur  ? ” asked 
Mr.  Carletcn  Randolph. 

“ Oh  yes,  certainly  I should  ; and  now  I am 
at  leisure,  as  I never  was  before  since  1 
entered  on  active,  responsible  life.” 

“ The  best  way  is  for  you,  Arthur,  to  go 


6 CARL,  BARTLETT;  OR, 

with  Carl ; you  need  the  recreation  and 
change.” 

Mr.  Bartlett  shook  his  head,  but  the  lady 
went  on.  “ Yes,  you  can  go,  and  you  will 
write  home  very  often,  and  tell  us  about  all 
that  you  see.  The  children  and  I will  enjoy 
your  letters  almost  as  much  as  if  we  saw  for 
ourselves.” 

“You  would  enjoy  the  letters,  no  doubt; 
but  the  description  would  not  be  the  reality. 
I cannot  agree  to  start  on  the  grand  tour 
without  my  wife ; thus  much  I will  decide ; the 
rest  I leave  with  you : if  you  are  sure  you 
would  not  be  happy  in  going,  to  be  parted 
from  the  children  for  so  long  a time,  why  then 
we  remain  at  home  ; but  if  you  can  devise  any 
plan  for  leaving  your  maternal  cares  on  this 
side  of  “ the  big  pond,”  we  will  go.  It  would 
be  rather  a sudden  start,  to  be  sure,  but  that 
is  all  the  better  for  the  young  folks,  and  I 
suppose  you  do  not  need  much  time  for  pre- 
paration.” 


• WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


7 


“So  it  is  the  children  who  veto  my  bill,” 
said  Mr.  Randolph.  “ I don’t  see  any  reason 
why  they  should.  Surely,  my  namesake, 
Carl,  is  old  enough  to  be  trusted  for  a few 
months  ; so  I should  think  is  Emily,  and  as 
for  little  Lulu,  I have  heard  you  say,  she  is 
just  as  happy  with  mother  as  with  you.  I 
don’t  see  that  you  have  the  slightest  occasion 
for  anxiety.” 

“ I should  not  feel  the  least  for  Lulu,  she 
and  mother  are  such  good  friends,  and  I 
hardly  think  that  Emily  would  be  much  care 
to  her;  but  Carl  — No,  it  would  never  do; 
it’s  too  much  of  a burden  to  put  upon  her; 
besides,  she  has  petted  him  from  his  baby- 
hood, and  has  always  been  so  obedient  to  him 
that  she  would  not  restrain  him.” 

“ So  then,  it  comes  to  this ; that  you  refuse 
to  go,  on  account  of  Carl,  a boy  twelve  years 
old,  not  a bad  boy  either ; in  fact,  a pretty 
good  boy.  You  must  stay  at  home  to  keep 


CARL  BARTLETT ; OR, 


him  oat  of  mischief,  lest  he  may  cut  his  lin- 
ger, or  bump  his  head  ; lest  he  may  get  into 
some  childish  difficulty,  you  give  up  a chance 
you  may  never  have  again.  Here  is  Arthur ; 
he  says  he  can  go.  Who  knows  what  may 
happen  in  the  business  world  next  year  to 
keep  him  at  home.  I am  released  for  a time. 
I have  planned  for  it  these  two  years.  I have 
not  said  anything  about  it  in  my  letters,  for 
fear  I might  be  disappointed.  I have  thought 
that  you  and  Arthur  and  I would  go  over  the 
same  route,  stand  in  the  same  places,  look  at 
the  same  beauties  of  nature  and  art,  that  I did 
fifteen  years  ago.  The  only  thing  I wanted 
then  was,  to  have  flay  sister  and  my  old  crony 
Arthur  at  my  side,  and  many  a time  I have 
promised  myself,  if  myv  life  was  spared, 
I would  have  the  pleasure  without  the  lack. 
Really,  I did  not  think  you  would  say,  No.” 
Mrs.  Bartlett  gazed  upon  her  twin  brother 
whom  she  had  seen  only  at  long  intervals 


WHAT  CAN  I i)0  ? 


9 


since  he*  marriage.  His  large  practice  as  a 
lawyer  in  a distant  city,  had  left  him  but  little 
leisure.  She  would  gladly  have  made  almost 
any  sacrifice  for  his  gratification ; but  the 
mother’s  love,  the  mother’s  tenderness,  must 
be,  could  be  sacrificed  for  no  one.  The  two 
girls  might  be  left  in  the  charge  of  their 
indulgent  grandmother ; but  Carl,  generous, 
whole-souled  boy  that  he  was,  needed  guid- 
ance, needed  the  silken  cord  held  in  skilful, 
gentle  hands.  She  recurred  to  the  many 
times  when  grandmother  had  not  had  the 
courage  to  say  no,  if  “ looking-glass  and 
hammer,”  or  like  suitable^  toys  had  been  de- 
manded. She  "remembered  that  some  of  his 
schoolmates  were-  not  those  she  would  have 
chosen  for  her  son’s  associates.  She  thought 
of  many  things  that  would  hav^e  entered  no 
other  mind  than  that  of  an  affectionate 
mother,  and  she  broke  the  silence  that  had 
followed  her  brother’s  appeal,  by  saying  bo 


10 


CARL  Bit  RTLETT  ; OR, 


seechingly,  “ Don’t  say  anything  more,  dear 
Carl : you  know,  you  must  know  how  glad  I 
should  be  to  gratify  you.  You  know  too, 
that  for  both  Arthur  and  me  to  make  the 
round  of  European  travels  with  you  would  be 
inexpressibly  delightful.  Don’t  say  anything 
more,  please.” 

Mr.  Randolph  had  managed  many  a diffi- 
cult case  in  court,  had  led  many  a forlorn 
hope  on  legal  battle  ground,  and  had  learned, 
when  he  was  driven  from  one  mode  or  point 
of  attack,  to  try  another.  He  was  a very 
persevering  man,  and  now  turned  to  Mr. 
Bartlett.  “ Really,  Arthur,  I do  think  Madge 
carries  this  altogether  too  far ; cannot  you 
say  a word  for  my  side  ? ” 

“ I never  interfere  in  her  management  of 
our  children,”  was  the  reply ; “ she  under- 
stands them  far  better  than  I do.  But,  Mar 
garet,  cannot  you  think  of  some  plan,  some 
one  you  would  feel  like  trusting  with  your 
care  for  six  months  ? ” 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


11 


“ And  you,  too,  Arthur  ? No,  I can  think 

of  no  one ; at  least  of  only  one  person,  and 

she  has  already  duties  enough  of  her  own. 

# 

I could  not  propose  such  a thing  to  her.” 

“ Who  is  that  ? ” asked  Mr.  Bartlett. 

“ Maria  Howard,  my  old  friend ; you  re- 
member her,  Carl  ? ” 

“ Capital,  if  we  could  only  manage  it,” 
said  Mr.  Bartlett;  “ but  with  her  school  — no, 
we  ought  not  to  mention  it  to  her.” 

“ Is  Carl  in  her  school  now  ? ” asked  Mr 
Randolph. 

“ No,  she  dismissed  him  a year  ago ; she 
does  not  wish  to  keep  boys  under  her  care 
after  they  have  reached  a certain  standing.” 

“ I thought  she  was  well  posted  in  all  the 
higher  branches.” 

“Yes,  she  is;  but  she  thinks  it  is  better 
for  boys,  as  they  grow  older,  to  be  taught 
by  a man.  It  is  wonderful,  though,  with 
what  almost  romantic  attachment  she  inspires 


12  CAUL  BARTLETT;  OK, 

every  boy  who  has  ever  been  under  hei 
tuition ; they  are,  to  a man  — to  a boy,  1 
mean  — her  faithful  knights.  She  makes 
them  work,  and  work  hard,  too.” 

“ Puts  them  on  their  mettle,  I suppose, 
and  they  find  they  have  more  capacity  than 
they  thought,”  said  Mr.  Randolph. 

“ Yes,  there  is  a good  deal  of  encourage- 
ment about  her ; she  contrives  to  make  her 
boys  ashamed  of  doing  anything  but  their 
best.” 

At  this  moment  Mrs.  Bartlett  was  called 
out.  Mr.  Randolph,  who  had  been  walking 
the  floor  with  a quick  tread,  approached  his 
brother-in-law’s  chair  and  said,  — “Come, 
Arthur,  join  me  in  a conspiracy,  or  give  me 
permission  to  carry  one  through  in  your 
house.  I don’t  believe  in  meddling  in  family 
affairs.  I have  a wholesome  dread  of  flic 
blows  from  both  sides,”  he  continued,  laugh 
ing  ; “ but  in  this  case  I will  run  the  risk.” 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


IS 

“ What  now,  Carl  ? ” asked  Mr.  Bartlett. 

“ Why,  don’t  you  see  Madge  has  made  a 
damaging  admission.  I propose  to  bring 
Miss  Howard  into  court,  and  then  put  the 
said  admission  in  as  evidence  against  the 
defendant.” 

“ I don’t  know  about  that,”  said  Mr.  Bart- 
lett. “ I never  did  try  to  deceive  my  wife.” 

“ Oh,  nonsense,  we  will  undeceive  her  soon 
enough.”  Exit  Mr.  Randolph,  in  search  of 
his  nephew.  He  met  Mary  in  the  hall,  and 
asked,  “ Can  you  tell  me  whether  Mr.  Carl 
has  come  in  ? ” 

“ Och,  tu  be  shure,  yes,  sir,  it’s  in  the 
dinin’  rlioom,  he  is.  Misther  Corl  and  Miss 
Merley  a tearin’  up  papers  over  ivery  thing.” 

The  uncle  did  not  stop  to  listen  to  the 
complaints  of  the  voluble  maid  of  Erin,  but 
passed  on  to  the  dining  room,  where  he  found 
Carl,  “ the  younger  of  that  name,”  at  work 
on  a large  kite.  He  had  mucilage  bottle  and 


14 


CARL  BARTLETT  ; OR, 


newspapers  on  the  floor,  and  was  covering 
the  frame,  two  light  sticks  tacked  crosswise, 
with  a twine  drawn  tightly  around  for  ar. 
edge.  Emily  was  sitting  on  the  sofa,  making 
bobs. 

“ Oh,  Uncle  Carl,”  said  the  boy,  “ I do 
wish  you’d  help  me  put  this  paper  on.  I 
can’t  make  it  stay  where  I want  it  to.” 

“ It  is  some  time  since  I have  made  a kite, 
but  I used  to  be  a pretty  good  hand  at  the 
business ; let  me  see  if  I have  forgotten  the 
trade.  I came  in  to  have  a talk  with  you, 
but  I can  work  and  talk  too.  Carl  and  Emily, 
do  you  love  your  mother  much  ? ” 

Both  the  children  looked  up  in  wonder. 
“ I don’t  see  why  you  should  ask  such  a 
question,  uncle,”  said  Carl ; “ of  course  we 
do.” 

“ Yes,  of  course  you  do.  A person  who 
loves  another  is  willing  to  do  a great  deal  for 
the  loved  one.  How  much  are  you  willing  to 
do  for  your  mother  ? ” 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


16 


“ How  much,  Uncle  Carl  ? ” said  the  boy 
“ Any  thing  in  the  world ; but  what  can  I 
do?” 

“ What  can  I do  ? ” echoed  Emily. 

“ Do  you  think  you  could  live  without  her 
for  six  or  eight  months  ? Do  you  think  you 
could  cheerfully  let  her  go  away  and  be  gone 
as  long  as  that,  if  you  knew  she  would  enjoy 
it  very  much  ? Do  you  think  you  could  help 
her  to  go?” 

“ Mamma  going  away  ? ” said  Emily,  and 
her  chubby  face  stretched  to  twice  its  usual 
length. 

“ I declare,”  said  Carl,  drawing  a deep 
breath,  “ that’s  pretty  tough.” 

“Yes,  it  is  tough,  but  is  not  your  love 
for  your  mother  tough  enough  to  bear  the 
strain  ? ” 

“ It’s  hard  on  a feller,”  said  Carl,  drawing 
another  breath  from  the  bottom  of  his  lungs. 

“ It  is  hard,”  replied  the  uncle,  “ but  have 


16 


CARL  BARTLETT;  OR, 


you  never  been  hard  on  her  ? I know  I was 
sometimes,  on  my  mother,  and  sorry  enough  I 
have  been  since.” 

Carl  and  Emily  thought  of  the  firm  affec- 
tion which  had  often  met  their  wayward- 
ness. 

“ Yes,  I will  let  her  go,”  said  Emily. 
“ Where  is  she  going  ? ” 

“We  do  not  know  that  she  is  going  at  all,” 
replied  Mr.  Randolph,  “ but  I have  been  try- 
ing to  persuade  her  to  go  abroad  with  your 
papa  and  myself,  and  she  thinks  her  children 
cannot  spare  her.” 

“I  can  spare  her,”  exclaimed  Carl.  “I 
will  spare  her.  I’ll  go  and  tell  her  so.  I 
won’t  get  mad  once  while  she  is  gone ; I 
won’t  plague  Em,  and  I won’t  — I won’t  do 
any  thing  I oughtn’t.  Will  you,  Em  ? but  it’s 
pretty  tough.” 

“ Yes,  yes,”  said  Mr.  Randolph,  almost 
repenting  his  attempt  to  separate  mother  and 


' WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


1? 


children  even  for  a few  months.  “ Would  it 
be  as  tough  if  Miss  Howard  would  come  here 
and  stay  ? ” 

“ No,  not  half  so  tough.” 

“ That  would  be  grand,”  said  Emily. 

“ I am  going  to  see  her,”  said  Mr.  Ran- 
dolph, “ and  I may  tell  her  that  if  she  will  he 
your  visitor  while  papa  and  mamma  are  ab 
sent,  you  will  be  very  hospitable,  you  will 
both  try  to  do  what  she  wishes  you  to ; in 
short,  you  will  be  just  as  good  a boy  and  girl 
as  you  can  be.” 

“ Yes,  yes,”  was  the  answer  in  chorus. 

Mr.  Randolph  knocked  at  the  door  of  Miss  . 
Howard’s  school-room.  “ I’m  a black  con- 
spirator in  search  of  a confederate,”  said 

he. 

“ Ah ! ” said  the  lady,  “ 1 thought  you  were 

one  of  the  brightest  ornaments  of  the 

bar.” 

“ Well,  then,  if  you  like  something  more 


18 


CARL  BARTLETT ; OR, 


legal,  I am  an  officer  summoning  a witness.* 

“ I am  quite  at  a loss  for  your  mean- 
ing.” 

“ To  make  a long  story  •short,  Arthur  and 
I propose  carrying  my  sister,  Mrs.  Bartlett, 
off  to  Europe.” 

“ A very  good  proposal ; but  what  can  I do 
to  aid  you  ? ” 

Mr.  Randolph  then  accounted  what  had 
passed  that  morning  at  Mr.  Bartlett’s  house, 
and  closed  by  saying,  “ I have  laid  my  case 
before  you.  I really  do  not  think  you  will 
find  my  nephew  and  niece  a very  great  care, 
and  my  mother  will  attend  to  the  remainder 
of  the  household.  Will  my  witness  appear 
and  testify  for  me?” 

“ You  say  you  wish  to  take  the  next 
steamer  which  sails  from  here  ? ” 

“ Yes,  I am  very  desirous  of  engaging 
staterooms  in  the  Africa ; she  sails  in  a 
fortnight.” 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  V 


19 


“ You  can  give  me  a few  hours  for  con- 
sideration ; till  to-morrow,  perhaps.” 

“ Certainly.  I do  not  wish  to  hurry  you.” 
“ To-morrow  you  shall  have  my  decision.”* 
Mr.  Randolph  took  his  leave. 

The  next  afternoon  he  sat  in  the  parlor, 
turning  over  an  illustrated  copy  of  Pilgrim's 
Progress,  when  Miss  Howard  entered.  Mrs. 
Bartlett  was  summoned  and  soon  appeared. 
The  visitor  lost  no  time  in  explaining  the 
object  of  her  call. 

“ Margaret,  I hear  you  think  of  a Euro- 
pean tour ; i am  very  glad  of  it,  and  have 
come  to  propose  that  you  leave  Carl  and 
Emily  in  my  charge.  They  will  miss  you, 
of  course,  but  I have  been  your  guest  so  often, 
that  perhaps  home  will  seem  more  like  home 
if  I am  here,  and  I can  keep  you  constantly 
informed  of  their  welfare.” 

“ You  are  very  kind,  Maria,  but  that  is 
loo  much  to  ask  of  you.” 


20 


CARL  BARTLETT  ; OR, 


“ Indeed,”  returned  Miss  Howard,  smiling, 
“ ] was  not  aware  that  you  had  asked  it. 
Then  you  are  not  willing  to  trust  Carl  and 
•Emily  with  me  ? ” 

Mrs.  Bartlett  glanced  at  her  brother,  and 
saw  the  expression  of  mingled  triumph  and 
amusement  on  his  features. 

“ This  is  some  of  your  work,  Carl.” 

“ I have  gained  my  caso,”  said  tne  lawyer, 
w ith  a hearty  laugh. 

u You  always  did  manage  to  have  your 
own  way,”  retorted  his  sister. 

u Nothing  like  trying  what  you  can  do,” 
was  the  cool  reply. 

It  was  settled  that  Miss  Howard  should 
remove  to  her  friends’  house  the  following 
week,  that  she  might  be  fairly  installed  be- 
fore their  departure. 

The  state-rooms  were  engaged,  and  the  two 
weeks  seemed  to  the  children  like  a day,  so 
busy  were  they  in  helping  to  arrange  for  the 
comfort  of  the  travellers. 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


21 


The  last  morning  arrived,  two  hacks  were 
at  the  door  ; the  breakfast  was  scarcely  tasted. 
All  found  parting,  as  Carl  had  said,  “ tough  ” 
work.  The  father  and  mother  almost  repented 
their  agreement.  Mr.  Randolph  helped  Mrs. 
Bartlett  into  one  of  the  carriages,  rather  un- 
ceremoniously pushed  Carl  in  after  her,  jumped 
in  himself,  and  took  Lulu  on  his  knee.  Mr. 
Bartlett  assisted  Miss  Howard  and  Emily  to 
seats  in  the  one  in  which  he  was  to  ride. 
Down  into  the  business  streets  they  were 
driven,  by  the  market  house,  and  soon  found 
their  carriages  helping  to  form  a motley  col- 
lection of  vehicles.  Carts,  drays,  trucks, 
market  wagons,  immense  teamsters’  wagons, 
chaises,  carryalls,  hacks  and  coaches  com 
posed  a throng  which  seemed  hopelessly  en 
tangled.  Now  stopping,  now  moving  slowly, 
after  a trial  of  patience,  our  friends  were 
at  last  on  board  the  ferry  boat,  Mr.  Ran- 
dolph’s carriage  next  to  the  chain,  much  to 


22 


CARL  BARTLETT;  OR, 


the  alarm  of  Lulu,  who  put  her  head  out 
of  the  window  as  far  as  her  small  neck  would 
allow,  and  told  Uncle  Carl,  “ Those  liorthes 
were  walking  right  into  the  water,  straight, 
they  thertainly  were.”  The  engine  com- 
menced its  regular  strokes,  and  seemed  to 
Carl  to  say  — 

“ Ease  her  — stop  her, 

Any  passengers  for  Joppa?  ” 

Not  many  minutes  elapsed  before  the  party 
reached  the  deck  of  the  ocean  steamer.  Mr. 
Randolph  took  Carl  and  Emily  below  and 
showed  them  the  state-rooms  ; then  they  went 
down  to  see  the  immense  engines,  the  fur- 
naces with  their  glowing  fires  fed  by  grimy 
men  who  looked  as  if  they  had  passed  their 
lives  in  a coal  mine.  He  explained  all  to 
them  as  far  as  he  could,  and  finally,  taking 
out  his  watch,  said,  “ Now  we  must  go  and 
say  good  bye.”  The  time  which  Carl  had 
been  dreading  for  a fortnight  had  come.  He 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


23 


must  part  with  his  father  and  mother  from 
whom  he  had  never  been  separated  for  a 
whole  month  before.  Lulu  and  Em,  they 
would  cry  of  course.  Lulu  was  a little  thing, 
and  besides,  they  were  both  girls ; but  for  a 
boy  to  cry  — and  before  so  many  people! 
What  should  he  do?  He  swallowed  till  he 
was  nearly  choked,  and  then  gave  up  the 
effort  to  control  himself  as  a bad  job,  rested 
his  head  on  his  mother’s  shoulder  and  sobbed. 
Mr.  Bartlett  drew  him  away,  and  his  uncle 
led  him  to  the  carriage.  Miss  Howard  fol- 
lowed with  Emily  and  Lulu. 

“Come  Carl,”  said  Mr.  Randolph,  “be  a 
man  ; your  mother  is  watching  you  ; don’t  let 
her  go  and  leave  you  so  ; look  up  bright,  that 
is  one  thing  you  can  do  for  her.” 

The  boy  summoned  all  his  resolution,  and 
with  a smiling  face  returned  the  parting  salu- 
tation. Mr.  Randolph  directed  the  hackman 
to  wait  till  the  steamer  was  out  of  sight,  and 


24 


CAEL  BARTLETT. 


went  back  to  his  sister.  The  floating  moil* 
ster  began  to  move  ; the  children  watched  it 
till  they  could  not  distinguish  it  from  the 
vessels,  and  then  returned  to  the  house,  which 
seemed  lonely  and  vacant. 

Mrs  Randolph  opened  the  door.  “ Oh 
Grandma,  why  did  not  you  go  down  with 
us  ? ” 

“ When  you  have  bid  good  bye  as  many 
times  as  I have,  my  dear,  you  will  want  to  say 
it  as  quick  as  you  can.” 

“ Grammur,  mamma’s  going  to  thleep  in  a 
little  tinty  room  no  big’n  that,”  said  Lulu, 
holding  her  small  hands  a few  inches  apai’t, 
“ an’  the’s  going  to  thleep  on  a shelf.  Thee’ll 
fall  off,  I know  thee  will.” 

“ No  darling,  she  won’t.  Let  us  go  up 
stairs  and  tell  stories.” 

“ And  we  must  off  to  school,”  said  Miss 
Howard. 


CHAPTER  II 


[T  was  on  the  twenty-third  of  April 
that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bartlett  took  leave 
of  their  children.  We  will  not  follow 
them  on  their  travels  ; it  is  with  their 
son  and  daughter  that  we  are  to  become  more 
particularly  acquainted.  Through  the  young 
people  we  may  occasionally  hear  of  papa, 
mamma,  and  Uncle  Carl. 

For  a few  days  time  hung  heavily  on  the 
hands  of  brother  and  sister  ; quiet  had  taken 
the  place  of  the  activity  of  preparation  ; play 
seemed  like  work,  and  as  for  lessons,  they 
were  drudgery.  The  thought  of  loved  parents 
came  between  numerator  and  denominator ; 
between  nominative  and  objective,  and  made 

25 


26 


CARL  BARTLETT  ; OR, 


sad  confusion.  During  the  first  week  Emily 
commenced  in  school  hours,  an  average  of 
three  letters  a day,  addressed  to  “ my  dear 
darling  mamma.”  One  after  another  was 
thrust  into  her  desk,  too  much  blotted  with 
tears  to  send. 

Carl’s  report,  which  he  handed  to  Miss 
Howard  at  the  end  of  the  month,  showed  a 
state  of  things  but  little  better.  She  had 
borne  patiently  with  Emily’s  faulty  recita- 
tions, hoping  that  time  would  work  a cure ; 
but  she  had  promised  to  write  to  the  parents 
once  a week,  if  it  were  only  a short  note,  and 
give  them  a faithful  account  of  their  home 
affairs.  She  must  commence  the  fulfilment 
of  her  promise  that  evening,  and  concluded 
to  appeal  to  her  young  friends  for  aid. 

“ Not  a very  good  record,  Carl,”  said  she, 
as  she  signed  the  school  report. 

il  No,  it  ain’t,”  replied  the  boy,  in  a blunt 
tone.  “ I can’t  help  it ; how  can  a feller  get 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


27 


his  lessons  when  he’s  all  the  time  thinking 
of  something  else  ? ” 

“ But  why  should  a fellow  be  thinking  of 
something  else  when  he  ought  to  be  learning 
his  lessons  ? ” 

“ I don’t  see  how  a feller  can  help  it.  I 
can’t,  any  way.” 

“ I’m  sure  I can’t,”  said  Emily.  “ When 
I began  to  get  my  geography  lessoit  to-day, 
I was  looking  on  the  map  for  London,  and 
then  I thought  that’s  where  mamma  ’ll  be 
very  soon ; and  I wondered  how  far  they’d 
got  now,  and  then  I thought  may  be  they’d 
get  drowned  before  they’d  get  there,  and 
they’d  never  come  back,  and  I shouldn’t  have 
any  father  and  mother  and  Uncle  Carl, — 
and  ” — a flood  of  tears  closed  the  sentence. 

Miss  Howard  sincerely  pitied  the  weeping 
girl,  and  passed  her  arm  about  her  waist  as 
she  said,  “ And  so,  learning  the  geography 
lesson,  which  was  your  duty,  a duty  you  could 


28 


CAEL  BARTLETT;  OB, 


perform,  was  neglected  that  you  might  spend 
your  time  and  faculties  on  something  over 
which  you  have  no  control,  and  in  a way 
which  is  an  actual  injury  to  you  and  your 
father  and  mother.” 

“ I don’t  see  what  harm  it  can  do  father 
and  mother,”  said  Carl. 

“ I will  tell  you  a story  which  is  exactly 
in  point.  It  is  an  old  story.  Perhaps  you 
nave  heard  it  before  ; but  sometimes  we  can 
see  our  own  mistakes  better  if  they  are  re- 
flected in  those  of  others.  Years  ago  there 
sailed  from  one  of  our  northern  ports  a sea 
captain ; a bluff,  hearty  man,  who  bore  the 
rough  sea  life  without  grumbling.  At  home 
in  his  snug  house,  supplied  with  many  com- 
forts, he  left  a devoted  wife,  who,  in  every 
gust  that  shook  her  blinds,  every  shower  that 
pattered  on  her  tight  roof,  every  clap  of  thun- 
der that  rattled  over  her  head,  every  flash  of 
lightning  that  gleamed  in  her  comfortable 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


29 


rooms,  formed  imaginary  gales,  tempests, 
water  spouts  or  fires  at  sea  for  her  husband. 
One  day  the  wind  was  very  high,  and  at 
night  increased,  till,  as  the  sailors  say,  it 
46  blew  great  guns.”  The  captain’s  wife  had 
suffered  tortures  all  day ; but  when  night 
came,  the  increasing  storm  doubled  and 
trebled  her  anxiety.  .The  rain  dashed  against 
the  windows,  and  the  wind  bent  the  great 
trees  as  if  they  had  been  switches.  The  poor 
woman  laid  down,  but  did  not  sleep.  How 
could  she  ? She  in  her  comfortable  home, 
while  her  husband  was  tossing  on  the  waves, 
it  might  be  clinging  to  the  wreck  of  his 
good  vessel ; it  might  be,  alas,  struggling 
with  the  angry,  cruel  sea.  No,  she  could 
not  sleep,  she  ought  not  to  sleep  while  he 
was  in  such  peril.  She  went  out  into  the 
garden  and  climbed  into  a great  brass  kettle 
which  she  had  suspended  from  the  limb  of 
a large  tree  ” 


so 


CARL  BARTLETT;  OR, 


“ What  a foolish,  silly  woman,”  said  Emily. 

“ And  there  she  swung,”  Miss  Howard  went 
on,  without  noticing  the  interruption,  “ taking 
a strange  sort  of  comfort  in  thinking  that 
she  was  undergoing  privations  resembling 
those  her  husband  was  enduring,  for  by  this 
time  she  was  fully  persuaded  that  he  was 
wrecked,  and  if  alive,  was  in  the  midst  of 
terrible  peril. 

“ A few  days  after,  the  ship  Patriot  hove 
in  sight.  The  wife  gave  up  sighing,  and  be- 
gan singing  one  of  the  old  Scotch  songs  that 
had  been  a favorite  one  with  the  captain 
before  they  were  married : 

44  4 And  are  ye  sure  the  news  is  true  ? 

And  are  ye  sure  he’s  weil  ? 

Is  this  the  time  to  think  o’  wark  ? 

Ye  jauds,  fling  by  your  wheel, 

Is  this  a time  to  think  o’  wark 
When  Colin’s  at  the  door? 

Bax  down  my  cloak — I’ll  to  the  quay, 

And  see  him  come  ashore, 


WhAT  CAJN  1 00  ? 


31 


For  there's  nae  luck  about  the  house. 

There’s  nae  luck  at  a’ ; 

There’s  pae  luck  about  the  house 
When  our  guidman’s  awaV 

“ Down  to  the  wharf  she  went.  One  of 
the  first  questions  she  asked  her  husband 
was,  ‘ Where  were  you  the  night  of  the 
nl'teenth  ? Wasn’t  the  storm  awful  ? I cer- 
tainly thought  you’d  be  wrecked  ? ’ ‘ Storm  ? 
No.  we  haven’t  run  afoul  any  storm  since  we 
sailed  for  home.  We  shipped  a sea  once  in 
a while,  but  we  don’t  call  that  anything.’ 
‘ Yes.  the  fifteenth  ; you  must  have  forgotten. 
There  was  a terrible  storm.’  ‘ No  storm 
where  I was ; see,  here’s  the  log-book.  I 
wrote  in  it  just  before  I turned  in.  1 always 
do.’  ‘ Fifteenth.  Moon  full,  mate’s  watch 
on  deck,  fair  breeze,  making  five  knots.’  ‘ I’ll 
oe  going  home  now,’  said  Mrs.  Captain. 
‘ You’re  coming  up  to  the  house  pretty  soon. 
‘ Avast  there.  What  you  scudding  off  in  such 
etyle  for?  I’ll  be  your  convoy  if  you  will 


32 


CARL  BARTLETT  ; Cm, 


make  fast  till  I can  give  my  mate  a te^ 
orders.’  But  the  wife  refused  to  wait,  and 
hurried  off  without  her  convoy.  The  hus- 
band watched  her  almost  running  un  the 
wharf,  wondered  what  had  got  into  Pollv 
now,  and  said  to  himself,  4 Hard  craft  to 
steer,  those  women  folks  ; ’ and  went  to  nnd 
his  first  mate,  singing  as  he  went  — 

“ ‘ If  my  dear  wife  should  wish  to  gang, 

To  see  a neebor  or  a friend, 

A horse  or  chair  I will  provide, 

And  a servant  to  attend. 

But  if  my  dear  shall  hain*  the  charg®, 

As  I expect  she  will, 

And  if  she  says,  I’ll  walk  on  foot, 

By  my  word,  she’ll  hae  her  will.’ 

“ Polly  went  liome  as  fast  as  her  feet  would 
carry  her.  ‘ Charles,  John,  here,  help  me 
down  with  this  kettle,  and  get  it  put  away 
before  the  Captain  comes.’  She  never  swung 
in  the  brass  kettle  again.” 


* Save. 


WHAT  CAN  I DO? 


33 


By  the  time  Miss  Howard  had  finished  her 
narration,  Emily’s  tears  were  dried. 

“ Is  that  a true  story,  Aunt  Maria  ? ” asked 
Carl. 

Though  Miss  Howard  was  not  related  to 
Mrs.  Bartlett,  her  children  had  early  learned 
to  call  their  mother’s  friend  “ Aunt.” 

64 1 should  not  like  to  say  that  every  circum- 
stance happened  as  I have  told  it,”  said  she, 
smiling ; 44  but  is  not  the  story  true  to  life  ? 
Do  not  all,  young  and  old,  swing  in  brass 
kettles  ? 

Now  Emily,  and  I do  not  mean  to  say  that 
she  is  acting  any  worse  or  any  differently  than 
thousands  of  others  have  done,  but  thousands 
of  others  doing  a certain  thing,  that  does  not 
make  it  right  or  wise,  — Emily  has  imagined 
troubles  for  her  parents  and  herself  which 
will  probably  never  befall  them  or  her,  and 
which  she  cannot  prevent  any  more  than  that 
fly  walking  on  the  glass.  She  has  forgotten 


34 


CARL  BARTLETT;  OB, 


that  her  father  and  mother  are  under  the  pro* 
tection  of  Him  who  ‘ holds  the  waters  in  the 
hollow  of  His  hand.’  Instead  of  trying  to  do 
what  she  can  to  promote  their  happiness,  she 
has  been  doing  what  she  could  to  cause  them 
discomfort.  Carl,  too,  I am  afraid  it  is  not 
very  different  with  him.” 

“ I’m  sure  I don’t  see  what  I can  do  for 
them,”  said  Carl,  “ they  are  way  off  on  the 
ocean.” 

“ I’m  sure  I can’t  do  any  thing  for  them 
now,”  said  Emily. 

“ You  can  both  do  much.  I must  write  to 
your  mamma  this  evening  ; what  shall  I say  ? 
‘ Carl  and  Emily  think  of  nothing  but  their 
papa  and  mamma,  and  constantly  grieve  over 
their  absence.’  ” 

“ Oh,  no,”  said  Carl ; “ don’t  write  that.” 

“I  don’t  want  mamma  to  feel  bad  about 
me,”  said  Emily. 

“ No,  certainly  you  do  net.  I should  liko 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


35 


to  write  something  like  this.  ‘ Your  son  and 
daughter  miss  their  father  and  mother  much, 
but  now  that  the  first  few  days  are  over,  I am 
very  sure  that  they  will  study  and  play  in 
good  spirits,  and  that  you  may  think  of  them 
as  having  bright  faces  and  cheery  voices.’ 
May  I write  this  with  truth  ? It  depends  up- 
on you.” 

Mrs.  Randolph,  who  had  come  into  the 
room  while  Miss  Howard  was  telling  her 
story,  said,  “ When  your  Uncle  Carl  was  a 
boy,  he  used  to  say  sometimes,  when  he  saw 
any  one  looking  sad: 

‘For  what  can’t  be  undone,  boy, 

He  will  not  blubber  on,  boy ; 

He’ll  brightly  smile, 

Yet  think  the  while 

Of  the  friend  that’s  gone,  boy.’  ” 

“ Oh,  I will  try,”  said  Emily.  “ I never 
thought  I was  giving  mamma  trouble:  it 
doesn’t  seem  as  if  I could,  she’s  so  far  ofT 


36 


CARL  BARTLETT;  OR, 


“ Can’t  you  save  some  room  for  me  to  write 
a little  ? ” asked  Carl. 

“ Oh  yes,  I will  do  that.” 

Carl  took  his  cap  and  went  out.  The  letter 
was  written  and  received.  These  were  the 
closing  lines : 

Dear  Mamma  : 

I did  feel  pretty  bad  after  you  went ; but  I 
don’t  feel  so  bad  now.  I have  been  over  to 
Georgie  Graham’s  playing  ball,  this  afternoon, 
and  I had  a first  rate  time.  Em  is  up-stairs 
now,  with  Grandma  and  Lulu,  dressing  dolls. 
Aunt  Maria  tells  us  jolly  stories,  most  as  good 
as  Uncle  Carl. 

Your  affectionate  son, 

Carl. 

Our  young  friends  were  not  perfect.  Emily 
was  sometimes  indolent  and  careless,  and 
Carl’s  hasty  temper  manifested  itself  more 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


37 


than  once  in  sharp  words  and  even  blows; 
but  their  love  for  father  and  mother  was  a 
powerful  incentive  and  restraint.  Miss  How- 
ard, from  week  to  week,  reported  their  honest 
efforts  to  please  the  absent  ones,  and  they 
frequently  received  the  expression  of  their 
parents’s  gratification  on  the  same  sheet  with 
descriptions  of  wonderful  people,  places  and 
things. 

One  day  there  came  a letter  with  a Prussian 
stamp,  and  nearly  covered  with  post-marks. 
It  was  directed  to 

Mb.  Oableton  R.  Bartlett, 

Boston, 

U.  S A. 

He  knew  the  hand  well.  It  was  his 
mother’s,  and  contained  an  account  of  a visit 
she  had  lately  made  to  a school.  The  de- 
scription was  interesting,  but  the  closing 
sentences  of  the  letter  was  the  best.  Mrs, 


38 


CARL  BARTLETT. 


Bartlett  wrote,  “We  have  missed  none  of 
your  letters,  not  one.  We  do  not  always 
receive  them  regularly,  but  if  we  are  without 
one  week,  we  are  pretty  sure  to  be  paid  by 
finding  two  or  three  the  next.  You  cannot 
think,  Carl  and  Emily,  how  much  pleasure 
it  gives  us  to  hear  from  you,  that  you  are  well 
and  happy.  If  I supposed  that  my  children 
were  pining  at  home,  that  they  could  not  be 
blithe  and  joyous  because  papa  and  mamma 
were  away,  I am  afraid  I should  care  little  for 
the  beautiful  things  I am  seeing.  I am  afraid 
I should  think  only  of  my  return  to  them. 
Kiss  Emily  and  Lulu  for  me,  dear  Carl. 
Give  love  and  hearty  thanks  to  Grandmother 
and  Aunt  Maria,  and  believe  me, 

Your  ever  loving 


Mother. 


CHAPTER  IH. 


^R.  and  Mrs.  Bartlett  left  it  to  Miss 
Howard’s  decision  where  she  should 
pass  the  summer  vacation  with  Carl 
and  Emily.  She-  was  desirous  that 
their  wishes  should  be  gratified  in  the  selec- 
tion of  a place,  and  one  day,  about  the 
middle  of  June,  said  to  them,  “ Vacation  will 
commence  in  three  weeks ; where  shall  we 
spend  it  ? ” 

“ Oh,  let’s  go  to  the House,”  said 

Emily,  naming  one  of  the  large  hotels  near 
the  White  Mountains,  where  they  had  for- 
merly been  with  their  father  and  mother. 

Carl  spoke  of  a sea-shore  resort  where  he 
had  once  staid  for  a month,  but  said  his 


CARL  BARTLE'TT;  OS, 


40 

father  was  there  then,  and  he  did  not  suppose 
there  would  be  much  fun  without  him. 

“ Where  are  you  going,  Grandmamma  ? ” 
asked  Emily. 

“ Cousin  Amy  wants  Lulu  and  1 should 
make  her  a visit.” 

“ That’s  close  by  where  your  sister  lives, 
ain’t  it,  Aunt  Maria  ? ” asked  Carl. 

“About  ten  miles  from  Clifton,  I think,” 
replied  Miss  Howard. 

The  young  people  had  often  heard  her 
speak  of  her  pleasant  visits  to  Clifton,  of  her 
nephews,  and  the  orphan  boy  her  friends 
there  had  adopted. 

“ Why  couldn’t  we  go  to  Clifton  ? ” asked 
Emily ; “ then  we  could  go  and  call  on 
Grandmamma  and  Lulu.” 

“ Lulu  come  and  call  on  Emmy,”  said  the 
child ; “ make  calls  like  big  ladies.”  She 
took  a small  book  from  the  table,  snatched 
Mrs.  Randolph’s  handkerchief,  ran  to  the  door 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


41 


and  came  back  with  a mincing  step,  holding 
the  book  with  the  handkerchief,  as  she  had 
seen  her  mamma’s  friends  hold  their  card- 
cases.  “How  d’ye  do,  Missie  Wandolph?” 
“ How  d’ye  do,  my  dear  ? ” “ How  d’ye  do, 

Auntie  ? ” she  said,  as  she  walked  round  the 
room,  offering  her  hand  to  one  after  another. 

“ I shouldn’t  wonder  if  Mr.  Gray’s  place 
was  very  much  like  my  Uncle  Jacob’s,  where 
my  mother  used  to  take  me  when  I was  a 
little  girl,”  said  Mrs.  Randolph,  as  soon  as 
the  laugh  which  followed  Lulu’s  mimicry  was 
over.  “ What  wonderful  times  I did  have, 
and  what  terrible  destruction  of  clothing  was 
the  consequence.  There  was  an  immense 
brush-heap  one  side  of  the  house.  I used  to 
think  that  some  day  that  brush-heap  would 
be  burnt  up,  but  the  next  summer  it  was  just 
as  large  as  ever.  I suppose  Uncle  Jacob 
added  to  it  every  winter  as  much  as  was  used. 
It  was  great  sport  for  me  to  climb  round  on 


42 


CARL  BARTLETT;  OR, 


it,  but  it  was  rending,  heart-rending  for 
pantaletts.  It  was  the  fashion  then  for  girls 
of  my  age  to  wear  pantaletts  reaching  to  the 
ancle ; some  of  mine  were  very  handsome, 
with  wrought  edging  and  insertion.  The 
ends  in  the  brush-heap  paid  no  respect  to  my 
embroidery,  and  one  pair  of  pantaletts  was 
ruined  before  mother  knew  it.  I went  into 
the  house  all  tattered  and  torn.  ‘ Hullo ! ’ 
said  Uncle  Jacob, 1 what  did  you  travel  so  far 
through  your  pantaletts  for  ? ’ ” 

“ Oh,  Grandmamma,  it  don’t  seem  as  if  you 
could  have  ever  been  a little  girl  like  Lulu, 
nor  a big  girl  like  me;  it  seems  as  if  you 
were  always  a real  nice  old  lady,  the  same  as 
you  are  now,”  said  Emily,  throwing  her  arms 
about  Mrs.  Randolph’s  neck,  and  kissing 
her. 

“ I am  afraid  I was  a sad  tom-boy ; but  you 
must  not  be  one,”  was  the  laughing  reply. 

“ ' 'bo’ll  do  pretty  well  if  she  turns  out  like 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  l 


43 


Grandmother,”  said  Carl.  “Can’t  we  go  to 
Clifton,  Aunt  Maria?” 

“ I do  not  know.  I had  thought  of  it,” 
said  Miss  Howard ; “ but  perhaps  we  three 
would  be  a larger  party  than  my  sister  could 
provide  for.” 

“ We  won’t  be  the  least  bit  of  trouble,”  said 
Emily. 

“ I will  write  to  her.  It  may  be  she  can 

* 

arrange  for  us,”  said  Miss  Howard. 

Emily  waited  for  the  reply  with  all  the 
patience  she  could  command.  A week  passed 
before  it  was  received.  Miss  Howard  slipped 
the  blade  of  her  penknife  along  one  end  of 
the  envelope,  drew  out  the  well-covered  sheet, 
and  was  soon  absorbed  in  reading  some  items 
of  Clifton  news,  entirely  forgetting  that  young 
eyes  were  watching  the  expression  of  her  face, 
and  young  ears  were  eagerly  waiting  to  hea* 
the  decision. 

“ Oh  — h dear,”  said  Emily,  after  five 


44 


GAEL  BAETLETT;  OB, 


minutes  had  elapsed,  “ I do  wish  she’d  tell  us 
whether  we’re  going  or  not.” 

“ I beg  your  pardon,”  said  Miss  Howard. 
“ I was  so  occupied  with  the  last  part  of  the 
letter  that  I had  almost  forgotten  that  you 
had  a share  in  the  first  part  of  it.  I will 
read  it.” 

Mrs.  Gray  wrote  that  she  should  be  happy 
to  see  her  sister  and  her  young  friends,  if 
they  thought  they  could  be  comfortable,  in 
the  rather  crowded  accommodations,  which 
were  the  best  she  had  to  offer. 

“ I don’t  believe  we  shall  be  any  more 
crowded  than  we  were  in  the  Clairevoie,” 
said  Emily.  “ They  gave  us  rooms  up  in  the 
attic ; how  I did  hit  my  head  against  the 
slanting  walls.  Father  said  I would  have 
been  a treasure  to  a travelling  phrenologist ; 
I could  show  new  bumps  every  day.” 

“ We’ll  be  comfortable  enough,”  said  Carl. 
“ I’ll  carry  up  my  tent  and  camp  out.  I’d 
like  it  number  one.” 


WHAT  CAN  I DO?  45 

“ Oh,  no,”  said  Miss  Howard,  “ we  need 
iiot  either  camp  out  or  make  a new  system 
of  phrenology.” 

Glad  to  leave  the  heat,  dust  and  close  air 
of  the  city,  Miss  Howard,  Carl  and  Emily 
started  for  Clifton  the  first  day  of  July.  Mrs. 
Randolph  and  Lulu  were  their  travelling  com 
panions  for  nearly  the  whole  journey. 

Though  Carl  and  Emily  had  often  spent 
a large  portion  of  the  summer  at  the  sea- 
shore or  among  the  mountains,  they  had 
never  before  been  members  oi'  a farmer’s 
household  and  enjoyed  keenly  the  liberty,  the 
freedom  from  conventional  restraints. 

Robin  Gray  gave  Carl  a boisterous  wel- 
come. He  had  found  the  boys  of  that  scat- 
tered neighborhood  poor  substitutes  for  Erank, 
and  hailed  the  arrival  of  one  about  his  own 
age,  who  would  be  for  two  months  his  con- 
stant associate.  Emily  joined  the  boys  in 
many  a scheme,  and  was  in  great  danger 


46 


CARL  BARTLETT  ; OR, 


of  becoming,  notwithstanding  grandmamma’® 
warning,  a sad  tom-boy. 

One  of  their  first  exploits  was  swinging  on 
birch  trees.  Robin  had  had  much  expe- 
rience, and  was  in  some  respects  a good 
teacher  of  the  art.  “ I’ll  show  you  some 
splendid  trees  to  swing  on,”  said  he. 

“ Have  you  got  a swing  out  there  ? ” asked 
Emily. 

“ No,  we  swing  on  the  trees.” 

“ Don’t  you  want  a rope  ? ” said  Carl. 

“ No,  no,  you  come  and  I’ll  show  you  how. 
It’s  the  greatest  fun  you  ever  had,”  said 
Robin,  as  he  led  the  way  to  a clump  of  birch 
trees.  He  selected  a tall,  slender  one,  stand- 
ing a little  apart  from  the  others,  and  began 
to  climb. 

“ That  won’t  bear,”  said  Carl. 

“Oh,  never  you  feai,”  answered  Robin, 
still  ascending,  swinging,  swinging,  till  his 
feet  nearly  touched  the  grass  ; then  he  let  go 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


47 


his  hold,  and  dropped  lightly  to  the  ground. 
“ Ah,  that’s  jolly,”  said  he. 

Carl  and  Emily  had  breathlessly  watched 
him,  expecting  every  moment  to  see  the  deli 
cate  tree-top  break  and  fall  with  its  burden  ; 
put  when  they  saw  him  safe  on  terra  firma 
again,  they  entered  more  into  the  spirit  of 
the  sport.  Carl,  after  two  or  three  trials 
of  smaller  trees,  found  he  could  climb  as 
high  as  Robin. 

“ Come,  Em,  you  try  it ; it’s  grand.  There’s 
a tree  just  right  for  you.” 

Emily  looked  at  the  tree  with  longing  eyes, 
wished  girls  could  climb  as  well  as  boys,  and 
would  have  tested  her  agility  had  not  a gentle 
remonstrance  prevented  her.  “ Take  care ; 
that  is  one  of  the  things  girls  ought  not  to 
do  till  they  have  had  a good  deal  of  expe- 
rience.” 

“ Then  I don’t  see  how  they  are  going  to 
do  it  at  all,”  returned  Emily. 


48 


CARL  BARTLETT;  OB, 


U1  don’t  either,”  said  Deacon  Goodwin, 
smiling. 

“ Oh,  I see  what  you  mean,”  said  Emily, 
looking  rather  foolish. 

“ Didn’t  you  use  to  climb  birch  trees  when 
you  was  a boy,  Uncle  David  ? ” asked  Robin. 

“ And  a good  many  other  kinds  of  trees 
too.  It  will  do  pretty  well  for  you  boys ; it 
don’t  harm  you  much  to  get  a tumble  once 
in  a while.  Your  aunt  Marm  has  come  ? ” 

“ Yes,  sir.” 

“ Wonder  if  she  and  the  young  folks  don’t 
wan’t  to  go  with  me  to-morrow  to  salt  mv 
sheep  ? ” 

“ I guess  she’d  like  to.  I’ll  ask  her,”  said 
Robin. 

“ I can  find  room  for  you,  too,  but  I didn’t 
know  as  you’d  care  anything  about  it ; it’s 
nothing  new  to  you.” 

“ Oh.  I couldn’t  go,”  said  Robin,  “ I am 
going  over  to  the  Wrights  to  help  them  fix 
vp  their  rabbit  pen.” 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


49 


“ I’ll  slop  for  you  as  I go  along,”  said 
Deacon  Goodwin,  turning  to  Carl  and  Emily. 

“ Thank  you,  sir,”  said  Carl.  “We’d  like 
to  go  very  much,  and  I know  Aunt  Maria 
would.” 

“ Salting  sheep ! ” said  Emily,  as  soon  as 
the  old  gentleman  was  out  of  sight ; “ why 
don’t  he  salt  them  at  home  ? Is  salt  mutton 
good  ? ” 

“ No,  I guess  not,”  replied  Robin.  “ I 
never  ate  any ; he  didn’t  say  anything  about 
salting  mutton,  did  he  ? ” 

“ Why,  yes,  he  said  salting  sheep.” 

“ Well,  that  ain’t  salting  mutton.” 

“ What  is  the  reason  it  ain’t  ? ” asked  Carl 
“ You  go  with  Uncle  David,  to-morrow, 
and  you’ll  see.” 

The  next  morning,  true  to  his  promise, 
Uncle  David,  in  his  open  wagon,  stopped  at 
Mr.  Gray’s  door.  He  was  one  of  the  old 
people  to  whom  all  the  inhabitants  of  Clif 


50 


CARL  BARTLETT;  OR, 


ton  claimed  relationship.  Nearly  six  feet  ia 
height,  years  had  not  bowed  his  well  knit 
form.  His  few  remaining  locks  were  white 
as  the  driven  snow ; but  his  ruddy  cheeks 
were  almost  as  delicate  as  an  infant’s,  and 
from  those  deep  blue  eyes,  “ those  windows 
of  the  soul,”  looked  out  the  sincerity  and 
kindliness  that  dwelt  within.  Would  that 
some  skilful  artist  could  have  made  perma- 
nent, on  canvas,  the  form  and  features  of 
that  New  England  farmer  as  he  sat  waiting 
at  Mr.  Gray’s  door,  on  that  bright  July  morn- 
ing. Coarse  in  his  dress,  his  manners  had 
the  polish  which  can  be  given  only  by  con- 
stant thought  of  the  comfort  of  others,  con- 
stant forgetfulness  of  self.  Old-fashioned, 
sometimes,  in  phrase  and  pronunciation,  he 
was  far  from  being  an  ignorant  man.  In 
the  long  winter  evenings  he  had  found  time 
to  store  in  his  memory  many  historical  facts  ; 
to  enrich  his  mind  with  some  of  the  choicest 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


Ol 


thoughts  of  the  older  English  divines,  or  to 
listen  to  the  words  of  authors  of  the  day,  as 
they  wei’e  read  by  one  of  the  family.  For 
thirty  years  he  had  been  a deacon  of  Mr. 
Cummings’  church.  Those  who  shrank  from 
entering  the  minister’s  study,  often  came  to 
Uncle  David’s  sitting  room,  or  walked  beside 
him  in  the  field,  between  the  rows,  as  they 
asked  the  counsel  which  might  enable  them 
to  bear  the  burden  laid  upon  them.  Many 
a sorrowing  one  had  taken  up  his  cross  again 
and  borne  it  cheerfully,  secure  that  the  secrets 
he  had  confided  to  Uncle  David  were  as  safe 
as  if  locked  in  his  own  heart. 

Deacon  Goodwin's  calm,  happy  expression 
would  have  led  the  careless  observer  to  sup- 
pose that  he  had  known  little  of  the  trials 
of  life ; but  his  way  had  been  one  in  which 
feet  less  resolute  than  his  would  have  fal- 
tered. When  others  would  have  been  tempted 
to  say,  “ My  trouble  is  greater  than  I can 


52 


CARL  BARTLETT;  OR, 


bear,”  lie  exclaimed,  “ Though  he  slay  me,  yet 
will  I trust  in  him.”  “ He  that  made  him  ” 
had  indeed  caused  “ his  sword  to  approach 
unto  him.”  Sons  and  daughters  had  been 
given  him  ; but  he  and  the  wife  of  his  youth 
were  left  to  go  down  the  hill  of  life  with  no 
son’s  strong  arm  to  lean  upon  — ministered 
to  by  no  daughter’s  faithful  hand.  The  aged 
couple,  though  “ ready  to  depart,”  still  took 
a deep  interest  in  the  welfare  of  friends  and 
neighbors,  and  were  never  more  happy  than 
when  the  voice  of  childhood  or  youth  was 
heard  in  their  dwelling. 

But  in  our  admiration  for  Uncle  David, 
we  must  not  longer  keep  him  waiting.  When 
Miss  Howard  came  out,  he  was  about  to 
alight.  “ Do  not  get  down,  sir,”  said  she. 

Carl  will  help  me.” 

“ If  you  will  excuse  me,  I won’t,”  he  re- 
plied. “I  find  I can’t  get  out  of  a wagon 
'is-  quick  as  I could  twenty  years  ago.” 


WHAT  CAN  I DO? 


m 


The  road  for  the  first  mile  was  smooth 
and  level ; the  old  horse  jogged  on  at  a mod- 
erate trot.  The  bracing  air  and  clear  sky 
were  very  exhilarating ; and  Emily,  almost 
unconsciously,  began  to  hum  one  of  her  school 
songs. 

“ Come,”  said  Uncle  David,  “ couldn’t  you 
sing  so  we  can  hear  ? don’t  keep  all  your 
music  for  your  own  benefit.” 

Emily  sang ; Miss  Howard  and  Carl  joined 

in. 

'*  Away ! away,  we’ve  a holiday, 

And  we’ll  off  to  the  woods  together, 

And  free  as  the  robin  that  sings  on  the  spray, 

■We’ll  bound  o’er  the  bending  heather. 

Oh ! tell  us  not  of  the  town  so  gay, 

Give  us  forests  with  trees  and  flowers, 

• Then  off  to  the  woods  we’ll  away,  we’ll  away, 

So  merry  our  holiday  hours. 

We’ll  watch  the  birds  in  the  woody  vale, 

As  from  bough  to  bough  they  are  springing 
Our  voices  shall  echo  from  hill  and  from  dale, 

And  frighten  the  squirrels  with  singing.” 


54 


CAUL  BARTLETT;  OR, 


Our  readers  are  doubtless  familiar  with  the 
song,  and  we  omit  the  repeats. 

“ I like  that,”  said  Uncle  David ; “ perhaps 
some  day  you’ll  come  and  sing  it  to  my 
wife.” 

“ Yes,  sir,  indeed  we  will.”  And  they 
sang  the  holiday  song  again,  testing  the  full 
strength  of  their  lungs  in  the  third  verse. 

“Ha,  ha,  ha,”  laughed  Deacon  Goodwin, 
“ if  you  haven’t  frightened  the  squirrels,  you 
have  the  sheep.” 

A large  flock  of  sheep,  startled  by  the  sing- 
ing, were  running  across  a rocky  pasture. 

“ What  is  droller,”  said  Miss  Howard, 
“ than  to  see  a flock  of  sheep  jump  a wall ; 
there  they  go,  first  one,  then  all  the  others 
follow.” 

& 

The  whole  party  laughed  heartily  as  the 
wave  of  woolly  backs  rolled  over  the  stone 
wall  in  one  continuous  stream. 

“ Nov.  let  us  sing,  ‘ Up  in  the  morning 
early,’  ” said  Miss  Howard. 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


55 


One  song  after  another  was  sung  as  the 
steady  horse  tugged  up  the  steep  hill,  for 
when  Deacon  Goodwin  turned  off  the  main 
road,  the  ground  was  rising,  and  the  wheels 
grated  over  large  stones,  or  settled  into  and 
jerked  out  of  holes,  giving  the  occupants  of 
the  wagon  now  a lurch  to  the  right,  now  to 
the  left,  then  a bound  from  the  seat,  which 
made  them  catch  their  breath. 

“I  — wish,”  said  Miss  Howard,  as  she  was 
recovering  her  own  equipoise  and  that  of  her 
hat,  which  had  brought  up  rather  suddenly 
against  Uncle  David’s  broad  shoulders,  “I  — 
wish  — the  town  of  Clifton  would  mend  its 
ways.” 

“ Begging  your  pardon,”  replied  Deacon 
Goodwin,  “these  are  not  Clifton  ways.  It’s 
good  exercise.  I thought  I should  be  treating 
you  city  folks  to  a rarity.” 

After  two  miles  ascending  nearly  all  the 
way,  the  horse  stopped  of  his  own  accord  at  a 
set  of  bars. 


66 


CARL  BARTLETT;  OR, 


“ Carl  will  take  down  the  bars,”  said  Miss 

Howard. 

He  jumped  down,  took  out  the  rails,  placed 
them  against  the  wall,  and  sprang  again  to 
his  seat.  If  the  road  had  been  rough,  the 
pasture  was  rougher.  Our  friends  jolted  on 
till  Uncle  David  said,  “ I reckon  we  will  find 
sheep  here  ; if  we  don’t,  we  can  walk  the  rest 
of  the  way.” 

He  stopped  in  a hollow  where  the  horse 
could  stand  comfortably. 

“ I don’t  see  any  sheep,”  said  Emily,  look- 
ing all  around. 

“ Suppose  you  sit  down  here  a minute  or 
two,”  said  Uncle  David,  pointing  to  an  old 
log,  “ and  we’ll  see  if  we  can’t  hunt  them 
up.” 

Miss  Howard  and  Emily  sat  down,  while 
Carl  helped  the  old  gentleman  take  from  the 
wagon  a small  bag  and  a wooden  measure. 
Some  salt  was  poured  into  the  measure,  and 
Uncle  David  called,  “ Kerday,  Kerday,  Ker- 


WHAT  CAN  f DO  ? 


57 


day.”  In  an  instant  the  hill-side  was  alive 
with  staid  old  sheep,  and  scarcely  less  staid 
young  lambs.  They  came  over  the  crest  of 
every  hillock,  hurrying  towards  their  owner. 

“ Oh,  do  let  me  feed  them,”  said  Emily, 
running  up  to  him. 

“ You  may  try,”  said  he. 

Emily  took  the  measure,  but  every  sheep 
and  every  lamb  turned  as  if  actuated  by  one 
will,  and  disappeared  about  as  quick  as  they 
had  come.  Emily  called,  “ Kerday,  Kerday, 
Kprday,”  as  Uncle  David  had  done  ; she  went 
Vy  the  hill  in  the  direction  in  which  some  of 
ihem  had  gone,  and  called  again  ; but  the 
only  effect  of  her  call,  was  to  make  the  few 
she  caught  sight  of,  to  run  farther  from  her, 
and  she  gave  the  measure  to  Uncle  David. 
He  called ; the  sheep  appeared  again,  but  did 
come  near.  “ I believe  you’ll  have  to  go  and 
stand  off  a little  way,”  said  Uncle  David. 

Carl  and  Emily  went  and  sat  down  beside 


58 


CAUL  BARTLETT;  OR, 


Miss  Howard.  Then  the  timid  animals  came 
bleating  about  the  farmer,  and  ravenously  ate 
the  salt  he  scattered  on  the  ground;  some 
of  them  tried  to  put  their  noses  into  the 
measure.  “Flora,  Rose,  Flossy,”  he  called; 
and  each  one,  knowing  its  name,  came  and 
ate  from  his  hand.  As  long  as  Miss  Howard, 
Carl  and  Emily  remained  quiet  a few  rods 
away,  the  sheep  crowded  about  Uncle  David ; 
but  the  moment  either  approached,  the  fright- 
ened creatures  scattered.  Two  or  three  times 
Emily  tried  to  coax  one  of  the  little  lambs  to 
allow  her  to  put  her  hand  upon  it ; but  the 
hand  was  that  of  a stranger,  and  the  lamb 
fled  from  it. 

As  soon  as  the  sheep  were  satisfied  they 
were  to  be  fed  no  more  that  day,  they  began 
to  crop  the  short  grass  around  the  rocks, 
scattering  here  and  there,  and  in  a few  mo- 
ments only  two  or  three  were  visible. 

“ It  makes  me  think,”  said  Carl,  when  they 


WHAT  CAN  I DO? 


59 


were  on  the  way  home,  “ of  that  piece  we 
speak  at  school  sometimes ; it’s  in  the  ‘ Lady 
of  the  Lake,’  isn’t  it,  Aunt  Maria  ? ” and  he 
repeated  the  description  of  Rhoderic  Dhu’s 
signal  to  his  concealed  mountaineers. 

“ Yes,”  said  Uncle  David,  “ that  is  very 
fine  indeed ; but  I can’t  say  I like  the  idea  of 
talking  about  ‘ plaided  warriors  armed  for 
strife,’  and  our  green  hills  at  the  same  time. 
Can’t  you  think  of  a description  that  suits  my 
flock  of  sheep  better  ? Think  a moment : 
you  have  heard  it  a great  many  times.” 

“ Oh,  yes  sir,  I know,”  said  Emily. 
“And  the  sheep  hear  his  voice:  and  he 
calleth  his  own  sheep  by  name,  and  leadeth 
them  out.” 

“ Yes,  that  is  it,”  said  Deacon  Goodwin ; 
“ and  the  sheep  follow  him ; for  they  know  his 
voice.  And  a stranger  will  they  not  follow, 
but  will  flee  from  him ; for  they  know  not  the 
voice  of  strangers.  I am  the  good  shep- 


60 


CAEL  BARTLETT. 


herd  and  know  my  sheep,  and  am  known  of 
mine.’  How  lias  our  Saviour  made  holy 
much  of  our  plain,  every  day  life.  I never 
sow  a field,  care  for  my  sheep,  or  gather  a 
crop,  but  I praise  Him  for  it.” 


CHAPTER  IV. 

our  friends  had  been  at  Clif 
four  weeks,  Frank  Wellington 
e home  to  pass  the  August  va- 
>n. 

“ I haven’t  seen  a blackberry  this  sum- 
mer,” said  he,  the  next  morning. 

“ Let’s  go  and  see  if  we  can’t  find  some,” 
said  Robin.  “ Frank  will  find  them  if  they 
are  to  be  found.  I believe  he  knows  every 
blackberry  vine  that  grows.” 

“ If  you  will  bring  me  some,”  said  Mrs. 
Gray,  “ I will  make  some  blackberry  short- 
cake and  some  pies.” 

“How  I have  wanted  some  of  mother’s 
pies,  some  that  I wouldn’t  have  to  whittle 


61 


62 


CARL  BARTLETT;  OR, 


before  I could  get  a piece  to  put  in  my 
mouth.  Who  joins  the  expedition  ? ” said 
Prank. 

“I — I — I,”  the  three  young  people  cried 
at  once. 

“ There  used  to  be  some  good  places  in 
the  edge  of  ’Squire  Williams’  woods,”  said 
Frank. 

They  went  and  found  the  same  spot  where 
the  two  boys  had  picked  many  quarts  the 
previous  summer. 

“ They  ain’t  so  thick  as  they  were  last 
summer,”  said  Robin,  “ let’s  go  where  they’re 
thicker.” 

“ We’ll  pick  what  there  are  here,”  said 
Frank ; “ if  we  spend  all  the  time  hunting 
round,  we  shan’t  have  any  to  carry  home  to 
mother.” 

“ There’s  no  fun  picking  such  little  scat 
tering  things,”  returned  Robin. 

“I  think  they’re  good,”  said  Carl,  speak 
ing  with  his  mouth  full. 


WHAT  CAN  I DO? 


63 


They  tramped  about  among  the  long, 
tangled  vines ; but  the  bottoms  of  the  bas- 
kets were  still  visible,  and  Frank  was  tiring 
of  his  slow  progress,  when  a loud  voice 
startled  him  : “ What  yer  pickin’  them  ber- 

ries fur  ? ” 

“ Don’t  they  let  you  pick  berries  here, 
where  you’re  a mind  to  ? ” said  Carl,  in  an 
under  tone,  to  Robin. 

“ Some  folks  don’t  like  to  have  you,”  he 
answered,  “ but  I never  knew  ’Squire  Wil- 
liams to  make  any  fuss  about  it.” 

Frank  rose  from  his  stooping  posture, 
turned  and  faced  the  new  comer  with  a 
smile.  “ That  you,  Jotham  ? ” I thought  I 
knew  the  voice.” 

“ Yes,  that’s  me,  ’taint  no  other  feller, 
Jotham  Hodgkins,  present,”  returned  ’Squire 
Williams’  man,  drawing  himself  up  to  his 
full  height.  “ Don’t  yer  fellers  know  no  bet- 
ter’n  ter  pick  them  leetle  misurbal  things  f 
What’d  yer  come  eout  fur  ? ” 


64 


CARL  BARTLETT;  OR, 


“ To  get  some  blackberries,  I thought,” 
said  Frank. 

“ Wa-all,  ef  I was  yer,  I’d  git  ’em;  them 
ain’t  blackberries,  least  ways  I don’t  call  ’em 
blackberries,”  replied  Jotham,  shortening  his 
long  nose  till  it  was  about  half  its  usual 
length,  and  making  amends  to  the  nasal 
organ  by  thrusting  out  his  lips. 

“ What  a queer  man,”  said  Emily  to  her 
brother. 

The  grimace  was  greeted  with  a shout  of 
laughter,  and  so  acted  upon  Emily’s  sense 
of  the  ludicrous  that  it  was  half  an  hour 
before  she  completely  recovered  her  gravity ; 
every  few  moments  the  droll  face  of  the  man 
would  come  before  her  mind’s  eye  and  pro- 
voke merriment. 

“ Them’s  kinder  like  them  things  they  liev 
down  in  Marschuset ; they  ain’t  nothin’  but 
shoe  pegs  with  a skin  drawed  over  ’em  ; they 
stews  ’em  up  sometimes  deown  tlier,  an’ 
then  they’s  more  shoe  peggy ’n  they  was 


WHAT  CAN  I DO? 


65 


store.  Better  let  ther  birds  heve  them  sorter 
things  they’re  jist  ’beout  right  fur  ’em ; saves 
’em  ther  trouble  ev  bitin’  on  ’em  in  two,  they 
hain’t  got  so  big  meouths  as  eourn,”  and 
Jotham  looked  at  Carl,  who  had  six  or  eight 
berries  in  the  palm  of  his  hand,  and  was 
throwing  them  into  his  wide  open  mouth  all 
at  once.  “ Come  ’long  uv  a feller’s  kneow 
suthin’,  he’ll  show  yer  some  blackberries  as 
is  blackberries.” 

“ Come,  all,”  called  Frank. 

Jotham  strode  through  a corner  of  the 
woods,  the  underbrush  crackling  beneath  his 
tread.  The  boys  followed  in  single  file,  Frank 
holding  back  the  branches  for  Emily.  They 
came  out  on  a field  which  looked  as  if  soil 
and  stones  had  had  a fierce  battle,  and  the 
stones  had  got  the  best  of  the  struggle.  In 
spaces,  a few  rods  apart,  the  young  brambly 
vines  had  sprung  up  and  bore  large  berries 
in  such  profusion  that  the  green  leaves  were 
almost  hidden. 


66 


CARL  BARTLETT;  OR, 


“ Whew  — w — w ” whistled  Carl,  as  the 
others,  with  many  notes  of  admiration,  began 
to  seize  the  ripe  fruit  with  both  hands. 

“It  won’t  take  long  to  get  a basket  full 
here,”  said  Robin. 

“ Fact  it  won’t,”  said  Frank.  “ I never 
saw  this  place  before,  Jotham,  and  I thought  I 
had  scoured  the  country  well  for  black- 
berries.” 

“ Guess  likely  you  didn’t  see  this  place 
afore,  cause  why,  ’twan’t  here,  yer  see ; ther 
’Square  an’  I,  we  burnt  it  over  year  fore  lass ; 
I used  ter  wonder  what  on  airth  was  ther 
good  uv  this  ere  place;  ’tain’t  no  use  ter 
nobody ; all  stuns,  an’  rocks,  an’  scrawny 
bushes ; an’  neow,  I kinder  think  ’twas  good 
ter  be  burnt  over  an’  bear  tip-top  blackberries. 
I wonder,”  said  Jotham,  apparently  forgetting 
that  any  one  was  listening,  “ I wonder  if 
there  ain’t  some  other  miserable  places  an’ 
folks  in  ther  world  that  don’t  seem  to  be  good 
for  nothin’,  as  kinder  want  to  be  burnt  over, 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


67 


or  suthin’  or  ’norther,  kinder  want  us  folks  as 
is  good  fur  suthin,’  ter  do  what  we  ken  fur 
em,  an’  mebbe  they’d  be  good  fur  suthin.” 

“ Good  in  every  thing ; isn’t  there,  Jo- 
tham  ? ” said  Frank. 

“Wall,  ya  — as,  I reckon  so,”  he  replied, 
“ ony  there  ain’t  no  good  in  my  stanin’  jabber- 
in’ here,  when  I orter  be  gitten’  them  berries 
Miss  Williams  wanted.” 

He  went  to  a large  clump  of  vines  and 
commenced  gathering  the  fruit.  Carl  had 
found  in  the  midst  of  the  same  clump  a great 
smooth  stone  where  he  could  sit  at  his  ease 
and  pick  into  mouth  or  basket. 

“ Like  blackberries,  I reckon  ? ” said  Jo- 
tbam. 

“ I guess  I do.” 

“ I reckon  yer  don’t  git  sich  blackberries 
as  these  be  deown  yer  way,  every  day.” 

“ Oh,  we  get  pretty  good  ones,”  said  Carl, 
unwilling  to  acknowledge  the  inferiority  of 
home  supplies,  ^ - ^ . 


CAEL  BABTLETT  ; OB, 


68 

“ Git  all  kinder  smashed  up  afore  yer  git 
’em.  I shouldn’t  want  ter  stay  no  time  in 
Boston ; there’s  some  mighty  mean  folks 
deown  there.” 

“ I’d  rather  live  there  than  any  where 
else,”  said  Carl,  uncertain  which  was  most 
incumbent  on  him,  defence  of  his  native  city 
or  civility  to  the  man  who  had  procured  him 
such  a feast. 

“ Some  mighty  mean  folks,”  repeated  Jo- 
tliam,  nodding  his  head. 

“ No  meaner  than  you  have  got  here,  I’ll 
warrant,”  retorted  Carl,  his  face  reddening 
to  the  roots  of  his  hair. 

“ Wall,  neow’  I’ll  tell  yer.  When  I was 
ter  ’Square  Martin’s  I went  to  Boston  onct. 
Yer  see  ther  was  er  man  there,  Badger  his 
name  was  ; he  had  some  sheep  as  come  in  er 
vessel ; they  come  frum,  frum  — wall,  never 
mind,  ’taint  no  odds  where  they  come  frum.. 
He  writ  ter  ’Square  Martin  as  they  wus  come* 


WHAT  CAN  I DO? 


69 


an’  he  was  a wantin’  on  him  ter  hev  some, 
they  wus  sich  ’stonishin’  critters,  an’  ef  he’d 
send  fur  ’em  quick  he’d  git  two  or  three  on 
’em,  but  ef  he  wan’t  quick  he’d  lose  ’em, 
’cause  there  was  sich  er  lot  er  fellers  er 
scramblin’  fur  ’em,  an’  wantin’  ter  gin  him 
whole  fortins  fur  one  on  ’em  ; but  seein’  ther 
’Square  wus  a old  friend  er  hisen,  he’d  save 
three  on  ’em  fur  him,  jist  one  week,  an’  he 
mought  heve  ’em  at  ther  ’stonishin’  low  price 
uv  five  hundred  dollars  a critter.  Wall,  ther 
’Square,  he  wouldn’t  hear  nothin’  but  I must 
go  jist  as  fast  as  I could  trot,  an’  git  them 
ere  sheep.  I tell’d  him  he’d  better  let  t’other 
fellers  heve  ’em  ; they  wus  willin’  ter  pay  sich 
fortins  fur  ’em,  ’twas  kinder  tough  on  Badger 
ter  take  away  sich  a chance  ter  make  money. 
’Twan’t  no  use  ; the  ’Square  he  was  a master 
feller  fur  buyin’  critters  as  had  heathen  names 
to  ’em,  an’  they  want  nigh  so  good  nuther, 
half  ther  time,  as  ther  regular  Yankey  land 


70 


CARL  BARTLETT  ; OR, 


o’  freedom  ones  wus.  Wall,  I went  ’long; 
he  told  me  ter  go  straight  ter  Badger’s  store. 
The  cars  they  come  in  ter  that  big  stune  de- 
pot, yer  know,  an’  there  wus  an  orful  lot  of 
fellers  actin’  like  wild  Injuns,  hollerin’  ’beout 
hackin’  somebody.  I jumped  eout,  an’  one  on 
’em  came  an’  stuck  the  butt  eend  uv  his  whip 
right  in  my  face'  an’  hollered.  I didn’t  want 
ter  be  fightin’  fust  thing  when  I come  ter 
Boston,  but  I wan’t  goin’  ter  stand  no  non- 
sense, no  heow  ; so  ses  I,  ‘ ef  that’s  yer  game, 
come  on ; ’ an’  begun  haulin’  off  my  coat. 
The  feller,  he  dropped  his  whip  an’  haw- 
hawed,  an’  another  feller  come  up.  1 Where 
do  yer  want  ter  go  to  ? ’ ses  he.  ‘ I want  ter 
go  to  Badger’s  store,’  ses  I,  ‘ an’  I’ll  be 
’bleeged  ter  yer  ef  yer  ’ll  tell  me  which  way 
ter  travel.’  ‘ Jump  in  ter  my  kerridge,’  ses 
he,  ‘ an’  I’ll  take  yer  there  in  no  time.’  ‘ 1 
don’t  want  ter  take  yer  eout  uv  yer  way,’  ses 
I.  ‘ Not  ’tall,’  says  he,  edgin’  Tong  to  the 


WHAT  CAN  I DO? 


71 


door,  4 this  way,’  an’  he  opened  the  door  of  as 
nice  a kerridge  as  yer’d  want  ter  see.  4 Jump 
in,’  ses  he.  6 1 jist  as  lief  ride  eoutside,’  ses 
I.  4 All  right,’  says  he,  4 jump  in.’  So  I got 
in  an’  sot  down,  an’  ther  feller,  he  rid  eout- 
side an’  driv.  4 ’Mazin’  perlite  yer  are,’  thinks 
I.  Wall,  he  druv  ’long  by  some  wood  piles, 
an’  some  smoky  lookin’  places,  an’  some 
places  as  looked  like  a berryin’  ground  all 
in  a heap ; they  had  lots  of  4 Sacred  to  the 
memory  of,’  least  way  I ’spose  so,  they  looked 
master  like  tomb  stunes ; then  the  feller,  he 
druv  along  where  there  wus  some  stores  with 
caliker  an’  flannel  flappin’  reound ; I begun 
to  think  he  wa’n’t  never  goin’  to  stop,  so  I 
stuck  my  head  eout  ther  winder.  4 Mister,’ 
ses  I,  4 I’m  ’bleeged  ter  yer  fur  ther  ride,  but 
ef  it’s  all  the  same  ter  yer,  I’d  like  ter  be  tuck 
straight  ter  Badger’s  store  ; but  I den’t  b’leve 
he  heard  a word  on  it,  ther  teams  made  sich 
a racket.  Bimeby  he  stopped.  I tried  to 


?2  CARL  BARTLETT;  Oft, 

git  ther  door  open,  but  I couldn’t  do  nothin’ 
with  ther  plaguy  thing ; ther  feller  eoutside 
jumped  deown  an’  whipped  it  open  in  er  min- 
ute. 4 Wall,’  ses  I,  4 it’s  ’mazin’  heow  easy 
’tis  ter  do  a job  when  yer  know  heow.  I’m 
’bleeged  ter  yer,  sir.’  But  ther  feller,  he 
looked  kinder  mad.  ‘ Dollar,’  ses  he.  4 Which 
on  ’em  is  Badger’s  store  ? ’ ses  I.  ‘ Oh,  it’s 
one  on  ’em  reound  here,’  says  he  ; ‘ foller  yer 
nose  an’  yer’ll  fine  it.  I want  er  doller  fur 
yer  fare.’  ‘ I ain’t  a goin’  ter  give  yer  a dol- 
ler,’ ses  I,  4 didn’t  yer  ask  me  ter  ride  ? ’ 
Then  there  wus  a feller  in  a blue  coat,  he 
come  up.  ‘ What’s  the  matter  ? ’ ses  he. 

4 Why,’  says  the  feller  that  axed  me  ter  ride, 

4 I brought  ther  member  from  ther  rural  dis- 
trict from  ther  depot  an’  he  won’t  pay  up.’ 

‘ Where  wus  yer  goin  ? ’ ses  ther  ’tother  fel- 
ler. 4 1 want  ter  go  ter  Badger’s  store,’  ses 
I.  4 Where’s  that  ? ’ says  he.  4 1 don’t  know,’ 
ses  I.  4 1 never  was  ter  Boston  afore.  !• 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


7t 


should  think  yer  fellers  ougliter  know  ’beout 
yer  own  teown ; this  chap  said  he  knowd.’ 
‘ Wall,’  ses  he,  4 give  him  fifty  cents  an’  then 
I’ll  show  yer  Badger’s  store.’  ‘ Wall,’  ses  I, 
‘ seein’  it’s  you  I’ll  do  it,”  an’  I hauld  eout 
half  er  doller  an’  gin  the  chap ; he  jumped 
on  an’  druv  off  like  a streak.  4 That’s  what  1 
call  mean,’  ses  I,  4 ask  a feller  ter  ride  an’ 
then  holler  fur  er  doller.’  4 It’s  ther  way  he 
gets  his  livin,’  ses  he.  4 What  does  Mr. 
Badger  sell  ? ’ 4 Cinnamon,  an’  pepper,  an’ 

them  things,  I guess,’  ses  I.  4 Oh,  yes,’  ses 
he, 4 Badger  & Co.,  East  Injy  goods,  this  way.’ 
4 No  yer  dont,’  ses  1, 4 you’ll  be  hollerin’  fur  a 
doller  bimeby.’  The  feller  he  grinned.  4 No,’ 
ses  he, 4 1 shan’t  charge  yer  nothin.’  So  we 
travelled  on  a leetle  ways,  an’  he  pinted 
deown  ther  street.  4 There’s  ther  place  yer 
lookin’  fur,’  ses  he.  4 Mr.  Badger  a friend  uv 
yourn  ? ’ 4 No,’  ses  1, 4 he  ses  he’s  a friend  uv 

the  ’Square’s.’  4 All  right,’  ses  he,  4 1 hooo 


f4  CARL  BARTLETT;  OR, 

you’ll  find  yer  friend  ter  home.’  Now  don’t 
yer  think  it’s  kinder  mean  to  ax  a feller  ter 
ride,  an’  then  holler  fur  a doller  ? ” 

“ Why,  that’s  the  way  they  earn  money,” 
said  Carl.  “ What  did  you  get  into  his  hack 
for,  if  you  did  not  mean  to  pay  him  ? Did 
you  get  your  sheep  ? ” 

“ Oh  yes.  I got  the  sheep.  An’  when  I 
seed  ’em,  I didn’t  wonder  tlier  feller  wanted 
’em  sent  fur  in  er  hurry.  I dew  b’leve  them 
poor  critters ’d  er  been  mutton  ; ther  kinder 
mutton  they  call  lanterns,  too,  I reckon,  ef  I 
hadn’t  er  took  ’em  off  his  hand  pretty  tolera- 
ble quick.  I tell  yer,  ’twent  agin  ther  grain 
ter  lay  deown  fifteen  hundred  dollars  fur 
’em,  when  I didn’t  know  as  they  could  say 
ba  — a — a when  I got  ’em  home.  I axed 
Badger  where  the  feller  was  as  wanted  ter 
give  me  a fortin  for  one  on  ’em,  ’caurse,’  ses 
I,  ‘ I’ll  take  ther  ’sponsibility,  like  Gine’al 
Jackson  did,  yer  know,  uv  swappin’  one  for  a 
fortin  on  ther  Square’s  ’ccount.’  ” 


WHAT  CAN  I DO? 


75 


“ What  (3 id  he  say  to  that  ? ” asked  Carl 
“ Wall,  he  sed  when  he  toll  ’em  they 
couldn’t  have  none  uv  ’em,  they  was  drefful 
disappint ; but  neow  they’d  gone  an’  buyed 
somewhares  else.  ‘ I hope  they  ain’t  got 
took  in,’  ses  he.  ‘ On  the  hule,  I guess  they 
hain’t,’  ses  I.  Wall,  I got  them  sheep  hum, 
an’  I fussed  over  ’em,  an’  the  ’Square  he 
fussed  over  ’em ; but  t’want  no  sort  er  use  on 
airth.  Yer  see,  they  was  poor  weakly  critters 
ter  begin  with,  an’  ther  vyge  wus  drefful  hard 
fur  ’em,  an’  they  want  use  t’  eour  cold 
winters,  an’  we  couldn’t  do  nothin’  with  ’em  ; 
ef  they’d  er  been  Varmouut  sheep  we’d  er 
killed  ’em  long  afore ; but  they  cost  five  hun- 
dred dollers,  an’  they  wus  worth  five  hundred 
dollers,  an’  they  must  be  took  care  on  five 
hundred  dollers.  Wall,  arter  a while,  I got 
kinder  tired  out,  an’  ses  I ter  ther  ’Square, 
ses  I,  ‘ ef  them  ere  sheep  was  mine,  I’d  make 
a present  on  ’em  ter  ther  Agricultral  S’city.’ 


CARL  BARTLETT  ; OR, 


I didn’t  mean  no  sich  er  thing,  ’cause  ’twant 
fair  ter  gin  ’em  ter  nobody.  But  ther  ’Square 
he  was  glad  nufF  ter  get  red  er  ther  plaguy 
critters,  an’  bine  bye  ther  papers  said  as  how 
’Square  Martin  had  gin  some  very  valerble, 
cuious  sheep  ter  ther  S’ city,  an’  got  er  vote 
uv  thanks  fur  ’em.  That  ere  vote  uv  thanks 
wus  ther  mose  he  ever  got  fur  them  critters. 
They  wus  cuious  sheep,  though,  very  cuious 
sheep.” 

“ The  sheep  man  was  mean,”  said  Carl ; 
“ but  all  Boston  people  aint  like  him.” 

“ Wall,  mebbe  not,”  returned  Jotham. 

How  long  the  stream  of  his  talk  might  have 
run  on  it  is  impossible  to  say.  But  if  there 
was  no  limit  to  the  endurance  of  his  tongue, 
there  was  a limit  to  the  capacity  of  the  five 
quart  pail  he  had  been  filling  with  black- 
berries. 

“ There,  ’twon’t  holt  er  nuther  one,”  said 
he.  “ I’m  goin’ ; yer  ken  stay  es  long  as  yer 
Baind  ter.” 


What  can  i do? 


11 

* We  have  got  our  baskets  about  full  too  “ 
said  Frank.  “ Almost  ready,  Carl  ? ” 

“ Ay,  ay,  sir.” 

The  road  home  lay  directly  by  Deacon 
Goodwin’s  door. 

“ I’ll  stop  in  at  Uncle  David’s,  and  see  if 
they  don’t  want  my  berries,”  said  Carl. 
“ You’ve  got  enough  for  Mrs.  Gray  among 
you,  haven’t  you  ? ” 

“Oh  yes;  more  than  she  will  want.” 

Carl  went  in  at  the  open  door,  while  the 
rest  of  the  party  waited  at  the  threshold 
He  gave  his  berries  to  Uncle  David. 

“ Come  in,  all ; no  standing  on  the  door- 
stone  here.  Wife,  here  is  ‘ a nut-brown 
maid’  and  three  ’Squires  in  waiting;  they 
want  a glass  of  your  mead.” 

“ We  didn’t  say  we  wanted  the  mead,”  said 
Frank,  coming  in. 

“ You  can’t  say  you  wouldn’t  like  some,” 
retorted  Uncle  David. 


78 


CARL  BARTLETT  ; OR, 


Robin  whispered  to  Carl  that  Aunt  Good* 
win’s  mead  was  first  rate. 

“ Now  for  some  Adam’s  ale,  out  of  the 
north-east  corner  of  the  well,”  said  Deacon 
Goodwin. 

“ I will  get  it,”  said  Frank. 

He  took  the  large  stone  pitcher,  ran  out  to 
the  well  at  the  side  of  the  house ; the  well- 
swoop  creaked  on  its  pivot,  the  iron-bound, 
iron-bailed  bucket  descended,  came  back  and 
rested  on  the  top  of  the  square  curb,  over- 
flowing with  sparkling,  pure,  soft  water,  such 
as  no  pump,  faucet,  or  other  modern  improve- 
ment yields. 

“ Ah,”  said  Uncle  David,  as  Frank  placed 
the  pitcher  at  his  right  hand,  “ there  is 
nothing  like  an  open  well  with  an  old- 
fashioned  sweep ” 

“ To  make  a poor  old  body’s  arms  ache,” 
his  wife  struck  in. 

The  icy  cold  water  was  poured  into  the 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


79 


mead  already  in  the  tumblers,  the  effer- 
verscing  powder  added,  and  the  young  people 
drained  the  foaming  glasses. 

“ I declare,  it  does  make  a feller  thirsty  to 
go  blackberrying,”  said  Carl,  setting  down  his 
tumbler. 

“ Do  you  like  the  mead  ? ” asked  Deacon 
Goodwin. 

Carl  uttered  an  inarticulate  note  of  admi- 
ration. 

“Have  another  glass,”  said  Mrs.  Goodwin. 

Before  he  could  refuse,  the  mead  was  boil- 
ing in  his  tumbler  again,  and  he  was  advised 
to  drink  it  before  it  had  done  foaming. 

Robin  and  some  of  his  schoolmates  had,  a 
short  time  before,  formed  a debating  club, 
which  held  meetings  and  passed  resolutions. 
On  the  way  home  he  offered  the  following 
preamble  and  resolution,  which  wore  passed 
by  an  unanimous  vote. 


80 


CARL  BARTLETT. 


“ Whereas,  Uncle  David  is  the  jolliest  old 
deacon  we  ever  saw,  therefore,  Resolved,  It  is 
a pity  there  are  not  more  luk*  him  ” 


CHAPTER  V. 

ARL,  did  you  ever  see  two  watch-dogs, 
each  with  a blanket  given  him  to  take 
care  of,  sit  upon  their  blankets,  and 
every  now  and  then  growl  at  one 
another,  and  show  their  teeth  ? Something 
of  the  same  kind,  on  a large  scale,  is  gener- 
ally going  on  here  on  the  continent  of  Europe. 
Several  great  mastiffs  sit,  each  on  his  own 
blanket,  eyeing  all  the  others ; every  little 
while,  one  pounces  on  another’s  blanket,  tears 
off  a piece,  and  puts  it  on  to  his  own.  This 
they  call  revising  their  maps.  Meanwhile, 
they  are  looking  round  and  watching  all  the 
other  dogs  near.  If  they  see  one  getting 
old,  tired  and  sleepy,  or  sick,  and  losing  his 


81 


82 


CARL  BARTLETT ; OR, 


teeth,  so  he  caunot  hold  on  to  his  blanket 
tightly,  then  the  wide-awake  dogs  come  each 
one  to  a corner  of  his  own  blanket.  They 
put  their  heads  together,  and  try  to  make  a 
bargain  to  pull  away  the  sick  dog’s  blanket, 
and  tear  it  up,  so  that  every  one  can  have  a 
piece.  This  they  call  ‘ a Peace  Conference.’ 
But,  luckily  for  the  old  toothless  dog,  they 
can  seldom  agree  as  to  the  part  of  his  blanket 
one  dog  or  the  other  is  to  have.  They  have 
not  an  atom  of  mother’s  faculty  ; we  used  to 
say  that  she  knew  how  to  cut  a pie  so  that 
each  one  of  us  children  had  the  largest  piece. 
But  every  single  dog  wants  the  largest  piece 
of  the  sick  dog’s  blanket,  and  is  determined 
that  neither  of  the  others  shall  have  it.  This 
they  call,  “ maintaining  the  balance  of 
power.” 

Now  when  the  blankets  are  tearing,  all 
the  small  dogs  should  be  kept  out  of  the  way. 
The  plain  English  of  this  long  dog  story  is, 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


83 


that  the  Emperor  of  Prance,  the  Emperor  of 
Prussia,  and  the  Emperor  of  Austria  and  two 
or  three  other  men,  who  are  said  to  wear 
bejewelled  crowns,  it  is  little  they  really  wear 
them  though,  are  preparing  for  war.  Prob- 
ably they  will  not  go  beyond  preparation ; 
but  for  fear  they  might,  three  American 
sovereigns  who  always  wear  crowns,  the  ones 
that  nature  gave  them,  lest  they  should  be 
detained  in  some  places  longer  than  they 
wished,  have  made  their  progress  more  rap- 
idly than  they  intended.  This  unexpected 
haste  will  cause  the  said  sovereigns  to  return 
to  their  own  dominions  several  weeks  earlier 
than  they  proposed.  They  therefore  send 
this  missive  to  one  of  the  princes  to  advise 
him  that  when  it  reaches  him,  the  said  three 
sovereigns  will  probably  be  crossing  the  terri- 
tory of  His  Majesty,  King  Neptune. 

Your  mamma  will  write  to  Grandmamma 
the  week  before  we  sail,  so  that  you  may 
know  just  when  to  expect  us. 


84 


CARL  BARTLETT ; OR, 


By  and  with  the  advice  and  consent  of  the 
other  two  sovereigns,  who  send  greetings, 
Carlton  Randolph. 

So  Mr.  Randolph  wrote  to  his  nephew, 
under  date  August  10th.  Three  weeks  later, 
on  Tuesday  morning,  the  letter  reached  the 
Gray  homestead.  Carl  read  it  to  Miss  How- 
ard and  Emily.  At  first  they  could  hardly 
believe  that,  under  cover  of  talk  about  mas- 
tiffs, sovereigns,  and  so  forth,  Uncle  Carl 
really  sent  the  joyful  news ; that  their  dear 
friends  were  every  hour,  every  moment  near- 
ing home. 

“ Uncle  Carl  don’t  mean  they  are  coming 
now,”  said  Emily. 

“ Of  course  he  does,”  replied  Carl. 

“ Olr  dear,”  I’m  afraid  they  will  get  there 
before  we  do  ; we  shall  not  go  till  next  Mon- 
day. Aunt  Maria,  do  let  us  go  right  off; 
can’t  we  go  to-morrow  ? ” 

“ I do  not  think  we  could  start  to-morrow, 


WHAT  CAN  X DO  ? 


85 

but  we  might  be  ready  the  day  after;  that 
will  he  soon  enough,  I am  quite  sure.  Sup 
pose  we  ask  Mr.  Gray  if  he  cannot  let  Frank 
drive  us  over  to  see  your  grandmamma  this 
afternoon  ? She  may  have  later  news.” 

As  this  was  somewhat  like  preparing  for 
the  reception  of  the  expected  ones,  it  gave 
a little  relief  to  the  impatient  Emily;  any- 
thing was  better  than  sitting  still  and  doing 
nothing.  Mrs.  Randolph  had  received  no  let- 
ter of  more  recent  date ; but  coincided  in  the 
opinion  that  a speedy  return  to  the  city  was 
advisable,  and  Thursday  was  agreed  upon  as 
the  day  for  leaving. 

“ We  want  to  be  there  in  time  to  get 
settled,  so  that  every  thing  will  look  as  if 
we  had  not  been  away,”  said  Mrs.  Randolph. 

“ Only  think,”  said  Emily,  “ mother  coming 
home  next  week.  When  she  went  away,  I 
thought  six  months  was  an  age  ; now  it  does 
not  seem  as  if  they  had  been  gone  more  than 
six  weeks.” 


CARL  BARTLETT;  OR, 


m 

“ That  is  because  you  have  been  busy  and 
interested  in  your  every  day  work  and  amuse* 
ments,”  said  her  grandmother. 

“ You  concluded  to  be  cheerful  for  the  sake 
of  helping  your  mother,  and  you  have  helped 
yourself.” 

“ To-morrow  we  will  pack  our  trunks,  and 
Thursday  we  shall  find  you  and  Lulu  in  the 
cars,”  said  Miss  Howard. 

The  trunks  were  all  ready,  and  Wednesday 
afternoon  Carl  went  to  bid  Deacon  and  Mrs. 
Goodwin  good  bye.  He  stepped  in  without 
knocking,  in  obedience  to  Mrs.  Goodwin’s 
often  repeated  invitation,  “ Come  right  in, 
always ; we  are  plain  people,  don’t  stop  to 
knock.”  He  crossed  the  kitchen  and  entered 
the  sitting  room.  The  whole  aspect  of  the 
room  was  changed,  and  in  how  short  a time  ! 
Yesterday  he  had  been  there  in  high  spirits, 
and  had  shown  his  aged  friends  the  foreign 
letter.  They  had  entered  into  his  pleasure 
almost  as  much  as  he  had  himself ; smilingly 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


67 


listened  to  liis  laudations  of  Uncle  Carl,  and 
his  enumeration  of  gifts  which  he  knew  were 
on  the  way  for  him.  Everything  about  the 
unpretending  room  looked  bright  then  ; now, 
though  the  furniture  was  the  same,  the  cur- 
tains were  drawn  up,  and  the  sunbeam  lay 
across  the  braided  carpet  just  where  it  did 
yesterday,  yet  all  the  cheeriness  was  gone. 
What  did  it  mean  ? What  did  that  room 
lack  ? Ah ! it  lacked  what  had  always  been 
its  chief  attraction  ; that  which  had  made  its 
homely  appointments  shine  with  a brilliance 
gilding  and  mirrors  can  never  give.  It  lacked 
the  light  upon  the  faces  of  its  occupants. 
Mr.  Gray  was  there.  He  had  stopped  on 
his  way  from  the  Post  Office ; there  he  had 
learned  that  the  weekly  papers  he  had  re- 
ceived contained  sad,  unaccountable  intelli- 
gence for  the  venerable  couple,  and  he  had 
come  to  offer  his  sympathy  and  aid.  He 
stood  with  the  paper  in  his  hand.  Uncle 


88 


CARL  BARTLETT;  05, 


David  sat  in  his  large,  high-backed  rocking- 
chair,  gazing  at  the  neighbor,  utter  surprise 
and  bewilderment  written  on  his  face.  Mrs. 
Gocdwin  sat  beside  her  husband,  her  hands 
clasped  tightly  around  his  right  arm. 

“I — I don’t  understand,”  said  the  old 
gentleman,  “ won’t  you  just  read  that  again  ? ” 
Then,  seeing  Carl,  he  mechanically  extended 
his  left  hand,  which  the  boy  grasped  as  he 
stood  listening  to  Mr.  Gray. 

“MORTGAGEE’S  SALE.” 

“ Will  be  sold  at  public  auction,  Wednes 
day,  the  fifteenth  day  of  September,  all  the 
right,  title  and  interest  said  mortgagee  has 
in  the  estate  in  the  town  of  Clifton,  now 
occupied  by  David  Goodwin  ; ” then  followed 
a description  of  the  house,  land,  boundaries, 
etc.,  and  the  advertisement  concluded  with 
the  words,  “ Sale  positive,  subject  to  the  mort- 
gagor’s equity  of  redemption. 

J.  J.  Downing,  Mortgagee.” 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  T 


89 


“ I don’t  understand/’  repeated  Uncle  Da- 
vid, “ there  is  no  mortgage  on  my  farm.  I 
did  mortgage  it  to  Mr.  Downing  for  two  thou- 
sand dollars  ; but  I paid  the  money,  every 
dollar  of  it,  two  years  ago.” 

“ You  got  the  money  of  ’Squire  Williams, 
didn’t  you  ? ” asked  Mr.  Gray. 

“ Yes,  and  I offered  to  transfer  the  mort- 
gage to  him,  but  lie  wouldn’t  take  it ; he  said 
my  note  was  enough.” 

“ Yes,  I remember,”  said  Mr.  Gray.  “ I 
was  there  at  the  time.” 

“ Downing  talked  pretty  hard,”  said  Dea- 
con Goodwin,  “ and  threatened,  once  or  twice, 
to  take  possession  ; the  ’Squire  heard  him, 
and  told  me  I had  better  take  the  money  of 
him,  and  get  rid  of  Downing  altogether.  lie 
said  I could  pay  him  a little  at  a time,  as  it 
was  convenient.” 

“ Why,”  continued  Deacon  Goodwin,  after 
a short  paus$,  “ my  father  built  this  house, 


90 


CARL  BARTLETT;  OR, 


the  most  part  of  it ; he  used  to  sit  in  this 
chair ; he  brought  his  wife  here  when  they 
were  married.  My  mother  used  to  wind  up 
that  clock  every  week ; ” he  pointed  to  the 
tall,  old-fashioned  clock,  ticking  in  the  corner. 
“ I was  born  here,  my  father  and  mother  drew 
their  last  breath  here,  and  were  buried  from 
here.  I brought  my  wife  here,  a bride.  Here 
we  reared  our  children.  In  this  room  two 
have  died  in  my  arms.  We  have  been  young 
here,  we  have  grown  old  here,  Lucy  and  I ; 
we  cannot  go  from  here.  You  might  as  well 
try  to  move  one  of  those  old  elms  out  there, 
that  my  father  planted  when  he  was  a boy.” 

“ You  must  not  go  from  here,”  said  Mr. 
Gray  ; “ you  have  the  papers  ? We  will  go 
to  Mr.  Murdock’s  to-morrow  and  make  it  all 
straight.  Downing  ought  to  suffer  for  this ; 
it  is  a piece  of  small,  mean  spite.  You  were 
on  the  School  Committee  when  his  boy  was 
turned  out  of  school.” 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


91 


“ Yes,  so  I was.  I don’t  want  him  to  suf- 
fer, though.” 

“ You  have  the  papers  ? ” Mr.  Gray  asked 
again. 

“ Yes — no  — Mr.  Murdock  has  them.  Let 
me  see,  how  was  it  ? This  comes  so  sudden 
I can’t  think.” 

“ Don’t  you  remember,”  said  Mrs.  Good- 
win, “ you  sent  Josiah  — ? ” 

“Yes,  yes  — that  is  it.  Josiah  took  the 
money  to  Mr.  Downing,  and  then  he  left  the 
papers  with  Mr.  Murdock  to  put  on  record.” 

“ To  have  the  discharge  recorded,”  said 
Mr.  Gray.  “ Then  Josiah  paid  the  note. 
How  long  before  he  left  ? ” 

“ How  long  was  it,  wife  ? I can’t  think.” 

“ It  was  two  days.” 

Carl  had  been  watching  Mr.  Gray’s  face, 
and  saw  a change  come  quickly  over  it  when 
Josiah  was  mentioned. 

“ Well,”  said  the  neighbor,  “ I don’t  see 


92 


CARL  BARTLETT;  OR, 


but  we  must  go  to  Shiretown  to-morrow  and 
see  Mr.  Murdock ; he  can  make  it  all  right, 
I hope,”  he  added,  in  an  under  tone. 

“ I wish  you  would  let  me  go  with  you,” 
said  Carl. 

Uncle  David  turned  to  him,  and,  for  the 
first  time  since  he  had  come  on,  appeared  like 
the  Uncle  David  the  boy  had  seen  every  day 
for  the  last  six  weeks.  “ No,  my  boy,  we 
old  folks  must  not  lay  the  burden  of  our 
troubles  on  young  shoulders.” 

Carl  gave  Mr.  Gray  an  appealing  look. 
“ If  you  don’t  object,  Uncle  David,”  said  he, 
“ Carl  really  wants  to  go.” 

“ Just  as  you  say,”  was  the  reply. 

“ What  business  has  that  man  to  sell  Uncle 
David’s  house  if  he  don’t  owe  him  anything  ? ” 
asked  Carl,  as  he  and  Mr.  Gray  were  going 
out  of  the  gate. 

“ That  is  the  trouble.  I am  afraid  he  does 


owe  him.” 


WHAT  CAN  I DO? 


93 


“ Why,  he  says  he  has  paid  him.” 

“ Yes,  but  he  sent  the  money  by  Josiah.” 

“ Who  is  Josiah  ? ” 

“ Oh,  I forgot  you  didn’t  know  anything 
about  Josiah.  He  is  Uncle  David’s  youngest 
son,  the  only  child  he  has  living.  He  got 
among  a wild  set  at  Parker’s  Mills,  and  all 
of  a sudden  he  went  away,  nobody  knows 
where  or  why;  now  I don’t  know  but  this 
advertisement  explains  it.” 

“ He  wouldn’t  take  the  money,”  said  Carl. 

“ I shouldn’t  think  he  could,”  replied  Mr. 
Gray.  “There  wasn’t  a finer  boy  in  town, 
two  years  ago;  but  he  took  to  drink,  and 
then  he  run  down  fast  enough.  I didn’t 
know  but  it  would  kill  his  father  and  mother, 
at  first ; but  I suppose  they  think  he  will 
come  back,  and  besides,  their  religion  has 
carried  them  through  a good  deal  of  trouble.” 
“ I don’t  believe  Josiah  took  the  money,” 
said  Carl. 


94 


Carl  bartlett  ; or, 


“ Well,  we  may  find  out  something  to-mor- 
row, but  I hardly  think  Downing  would  dare 
put  such  an  advertisement  in  the  paper  if  he 
had  no  right  to.  It  is  bad  enough  if  Uncle 
David  owes  him ; in  that  case,  it  may  be  law, 
but  it  is  not  honor,  or  justice,  or  decency.” 

“ There,”  exclaimed  Carl,  “ I never  thought, 
we  are  going  home  to-morrow.  What  shall  1 
do  ? I don’t  want  to  go  and  not  know  how 
Uncle  David  gets  along.” 

“ I didi^t  think  of  that,”  said  Mr.  Gray ; 
“ perhaps  Aunt  Maria  will  stay  another  day.” 
Miss  Howard  did  not  wish  to  break  her 
engagement  with  Mrs.  Randolph,  and  decided 
that  she  must  carry  out  her  plan,  but  yielded 
to  Carl’s  earnest  solicitation  to  grant*  him 
permission  to  remain  and  return  alone  on 
Friday. 

He  went  with  Deacon  Goodwin  and  Mr. 
Gray  to  Shiretown.  Their  first  call  was  at 
the  register’s  office.  The  mortgage  deed  was 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


95 


recorded,  but  there  was  no  record  of  the  dis- 
charge. Next  they  went  to  Mr.  Murdock’s 
office.  He  was  a young  man  who  had  a few 
years  before  succeeded  to  his  father’s  busi 
ness,  but  not  to  his  warm,  personal  friendship 
with  many  of  the  older  men  of  the  neighbor- 
ing towns.  The  lawyer  was  very  sure  that 
no  such  papers  had  been  left  with  him.  He 
was  very  particular  about  all  real  estate  trans- 
actions, all  transactions  in  fact,  and  no  such 
document  could  have  escaped  his  notice,  his 
personal  attention.  Mr.  Gray  ventured  to  ask 
whether  they  might  not  have  been  left  in  Mr. 
Murdock’s  absence.  “ Then  my  clerk  would 
have  called  my  attention  to  them,”  was  the 
decided  answer,  and  the  lawyer  took  up  his 
pen  with  an  air  of  offended  dignity. 

But  one  gleam  of  hope  remained ; it  was 
just  possible  that  some  explanation  might  be 
extracted  from  Mr.  Downing.  The  chance 
was  so  small,  however,  that  Mr.  Gray  tried  to 


96 


CARL  BARTLETT;  OR, 


induce  Deacon  Goodwin  to  wait  the  result 
of  the  inquiry  at  the  house  of  an  acquaint- 
ance. The  kind-hearted  man  dreaded,  for  his 
old  friend,  the  exultation  which  he  knew  that 
Mr.  Downing  would  not  conceal.  But  Deacon 
Goodwin  would  listen  to  no  such  suggestion, 
and  they  alighted  to  a large  store.  Three 
names  were  on  the  sign  over  the  door,  Down- 
ing being  the  third.  When  they  went  in, 
Mr.  Downing  was  standing  behind  the  counter 
near  the  door.  He  glanced  at  the  party  with- 
out the  least  sign  of  recognition,  walked  de- 
liberately to  the  rear  of  the  long  store  and 
commenced  a conversation  with  a customer, 
a clerk  was  waiting  on.  Mr.  Gray  found  a 
chair  for  Deacon  Goodwin  apart  from  buyers 
and  sellers,  then  followed  Mr.  Downing,  and 
accosted  him,  “ Deacon  Goodwin  wishes  to 
speak  with  you.”  The  shopkeeper  honored 
the  visitor  with  a prolonged  stare  and  said, 
“ Oh,  it  is  Mr.  Gray,  I shall  be  at  liberty 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


97 


soon,”  turned  to  the  customer  and  went  on 
descanting  on  the  relative  merits  of  certain 
brands  of  flour.  Mr.  Gray,  with  difficulty, 
kept  in  check  his  rising  anger,  when  he  re- 
membered how  often  he  had  entered  Mr. 
Downing’s  store  in  Clifton,  and  been  received 
by  its  smirking  master,  in  expression  and 
deportment,  the  most  obedient,  most  humble 
servant.  The  farmer  stood  a few  moments 
waiting  the  pleasure  of  the  insolent  trader, 
and  then  said  again  in  a louder  voice,  “ Dea- 
con Goodwin  wishes  to  speak  to  you,  Mr. 
Downing.” 

“ Don’t  keep  that  old  gentleman  waiting  on 
my  account,”  said  the  customer,  “you  can 
give  me  your  opinion  of  the  flour  another 
time  just  as  well.” 

“ Oh,  certainly  sir,”  replied  Mr.  Downing, 
“ only  I wanted  you  to  be  sure  and  have  the 
best.  Sell  a man  the  best  and  he’ll  come 
again.  That  is  motto.”  Without  a word 


98 


CARL  BARTLETT;  OR, 


to  Mr.  Gray,  he  turned  on  his  heel  and  ap< 
proached  Deacon  Goodwin. 

“ Well,  what  do  you  want  of  me  ? ” 

“I  see  you  have  advertised  my  place  for 
sale.” 

“Well,  what  if  I have,”  Mr.  Downing 
interrupted.  “ Didn’t  I tell  you  I should 
have  to  sell  if  you  didn’t  pay  up.  Man  alive, 
I’ve  got  a family  to  support.  I can’t  afford 
to  throw  away  my  money.  I can’t  afford  to 
let  my  capital  lay  idle.  I can  find  a use  for 
every  dollar  of  my  money.” 

“ I owe  you  nothing,  Mr.  Downing,”  said 
Deacon  Goodwin. 

“ Well,  I declare.  That  is  cool.  Here  you 
are,  a sanctimonious  deacon,  come  and  borrow 
a man’s  hard  earnings,  a man  that’s  got  a 
wife  and  children  depending  on  him,  and  that 
don’t  pretend  to  be  any  better  than  his  neigh- 
bors ; and  then,  when  he  wants  what  belongs 
to  him,  you  say  you  don’t  owe  him  any  thing. 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


99 


You’d  better  try  that  on  somebody  else ; 
’twon’t  do  for  me.” 

44  Mr.  Downing,”  Mr.  Gray  interposed, 
44  respect  Deacon  Goodwin’s  gray  hairs,  if 
you  have  no  respect  for  the  character  that 
every  one  else  reverences.” 

44  Don’t  make  any  difference  to  me  whether 
a man’s  hair  is  red,  white,  or  gray,”  retorted 
Mr.  Downing.  44  Right’s  right ; and  I’ve  a 
right  to  what’s  my  own,  and  I mean  to  have 
it.” 

44  More  than  two  years  ago,  my  son  Josiali 
paid  the  debt  I owed  you,”  said  Deacon  Good- 
win, speaking  in  cool  clear  tones. 

44  Your  son  Josiali ! How  comes  it  then 
that  I have  the  note?  If  youi  son  Josiab 
paid  me  that  two  thousand  dollars,  all  I’ve 
got  to  say  is,  let  him  come  and  tell  me  when 
and  where  he  did  it.” 

44  You  have  the  note  you  say,  Mr.  Down 
ing,”  said  Mr.  Gray.  44  Deacon  GoodwJj 
would  like  to  see  it.” 


100 


CAliL  BARTLLTI;  OR, 


“ You  make  yourself  very  busy  in  other 
people’s  affairs.  I don’t  know  as  I’m  under 
any  obligation  to  hunt  over  my  papers  for 
your  amusement.” 

“ The  note  is  one  evidence  of  the  debt,” 
said  Deacon  Goodwin,  with  dignity,  “ and  I 
should  like  to  see  it.” 

Mr.  Downing  wheeled  round,  went  to  a 
small  room  in  the  back  of  the  store,  very  de- 
liberately selected  the  note  from  a bundle  of 

papers  he  took  from  his  private  drawer  in  the 

* 

safe,  returned,  and  held  the  note  with  both 
hands  before  Deacon  Goodwin’s  face.  The 
aged  man  recognized  the  paper  at  once,  and 
said,  as  if  speaking  to  himself,  “ Oh,  why  did 
Josiali  go  away  ? ” 

Yes,  sure  enough,”  sneered  Downing, 
“why  did  Josiah  go  away?” 

“ No  more  of  that,”  said  Mr.  Gray,  grasp* 
ing  the  shop-keeper’s  shoulder. 

“ You  needn’t  think  you  can  frighten  me 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


101 


out  of  my  rights,”  said  Mr.  Downing,  turning 
pale. 

“ I didn’t  come  here  to  quarrel  with  you,” 
said  Mr.  Gray,  releasing  his  hold  as  the  man 
stooped  and  slipped  from  under  his  hand. 

“ Then  we  understand  that  you  intend  to 
go  on  with  this  sale,”  said  Mr.  Gray. 

“ Certainly  I do.  I don’t  put  advertise 
ments  in  the  paper  for  child’s  play.” 

Carl  lingered  behind  the  two  men  as  they 
turned  towards  the  door.  He  looked  at  Mr. 
Downing  standing  with  his  hands  in  his 
pockets,  and  a gloating,  triumphant  smile  on 
his  face.  “ I wish  I was  a man.” 

“ You  do,  do  you  ? ” 

“Yes,  I do ; then  you  should  not  take 
Uncle  David’s  place  away  from  him.” 

“ What  could  you  do  about  it,  young 
man  ? ” 

Sick  at  heart  Mr.  Gray  followed  his  old 
friend  from  the  store.  The  younger  man  did 


102 


CARL  BARTLETT ; OR, 


not  wish  to  intrude  advice  upon  the  elder, 
and  would  not  have  known  what  counsel  to 
give,  had  any  been  asked.  He  could  only 
hope  that  Uncle  David’s  faith  would  again 
guide  him  through  deep  waters,  and  secretly 
prayed  that  he  might  be  saved  from  the 
threatened  calamity. 

When  they  drove  up  to  the  door,  Mrs. 
Goodwin’s  anxious  face  appeared  at  the  win- 
dow, but  she  did  not  come  to  ask  the  result 
of  their  investigations.  No  need  of  that : it 
was  written  on  the  bearing  of  each. 

“ If  you  can  come  in  I should  like  to  have 
you,”  said  Uncle  David,  as  he  leaned  on  his 
neighbor’s  shoulder  in  getting  out  of  the 
wagon. 

Carl  looked  at'  Mr.  Gray  for  directions. 
“ You  may  drive  right  home,  or  come  in, 
just  as  you  please,”  said  he,  in  an  under 
tone.  The  boy  followed  into  the  house. 
Mrs.  Goodwin  took  her  husband’s  hat  from 


WHAT  CAtt  I DO? 


103 


him  as  he  sank  into  the  old  rocking-chair, 
laid  it  aside,  and  sat  down  by  him. 

“ Well,  wife,  we  haven’t  brought  you  much 
comfort.  We  may  have  to  leave  this  place, 
but  we  will  not,  till  we  are  obliged  to : before 
God,  I believe  it  belongs  to  us,  but  we  cannot 
resist  the  action  of  the  law.  What  weighs 
upon  me  most  is  my  debt  to  ’Square  Wil- 
liams. Our  Father  will  soon  take  us  to  the 
better  country;  we  must  set  our  house  in 
order ; we  must  owe  no  man  anything  if  we 
are  driven  from  here.  I see  but  one  way  of 
doing  what  is  honest  in  the  sight  of  all  men. 
My  poor  Lucy,  the  good  gift  God  has  spared 
to  me  so  many  years ; our  pilgrimage  here  is 
nearly  ended,  the  shining  ones  are  waiting  for 
us  on  the  other  side  of  the  river ; the  dark 
valley  may  be  brighter  if  we  do  not  go  to  it 
from  this  earthly  home.  Heaven’s  eternal 
door  is  just  as  wide  open  for  those  who  are 
destitute  of  earthly  possessions,  as  for  the  rich 


104 


CARL  BARTLETl' ; OR, 


who  find  it  hard  to  enter.  The  mansions  will 
be  ready  for  us  whether  we  fall  asleep  under 
our  own  roof  or  under  that  which  shelters  the 
town’s  poor.  ‘ Troubles  past  make  heaven 
brighter  and  its  joys  more  sweet.’” 

The  wife  made  no  reply,  but  sat  with  her 
eyes  fixed  on  her  husband’s  face,  her  hands 
clasping  his  arm.  He  paused  a moment,  then 
continued  : “ I never  thought  it  would  come  to 
this,  wife ; but  there  is  no  disgrace  in  it.  I 
see  now  that  it  was  wrong  for  me  to  borrow 
the  money,  but  I wanted  to  help  our  boy,  our 
Samuel.  I thought  I could  pay  it  if  he 
didn’t ; this  would  not  have  happened  if  he 
had  lived.  But  we  did  what  we  thought  was 
best  at  the  time.  We  have  done  no  wrong. 
Wife,  poverty  is  a disgrace  when  it  is  the 
fruit  of  wrong  doing.  My  poor  wife,”  said 
Uncle  David,  gently  stroking  the  gray  hair 
which  the  white  lace  cap  did  not  cover. 

“ Don’t,  David ; don’t  call  me  your  poof 


WHAT  CAN  I DO? 


105 


wife.  [ can  bear  it  very  well,  but  it  is  hard, 
cruel  or  my  Great  Heart.” 

Mr.  Giay  and  Carl  had  been  silent  wit- 
nesses of  this  scene.  Mr.  Gray  felt  that  no 
word  of  his  ought  to  be  interposed  between 
those  of  husband  and  wife,  but  he  could  re- 
frain no  longer. 

“No,  Uncle  David,  Clifton  will  never  see 
you  in  the  poor-house.  It  wouldn’t  really  be 
any  disgrace  to  you,  but  it  would  be  to  a good 
many  others  Just  think  how  many  of  us 
Clifton  folks  /ou  have  helped  when  we  have 
been  in  need  of  one  sort  and  another.  How 
long  you  have  been  an  honor  to  the  church 
here.  No,  no  ; we  must  find  some  way  to  get 
the  money  together ; but  if  worst  comes  to 
worst,  and  Downing  does  sell  this  house  over 
your  head,  my  doors  are  open  to  you,  and  I 
know  a hundred  others  will  be.” 

“ Yes,  I’ve  no  doubt  you’d  all  be  ready  to 
do  all  you  could  to  help  me,  but  I could  not 


106 


CAEL  BARTLETT;  OB, 


think  it  right  to  run  in  debt  when  I’ve  no 
prospect  of  paying.  We  thank  you,  Mr. 
Gray,  my  wife  and  I ; you  wouldn’t  mean  wo 
should  ever  feel  beholden  to  you,  but  it  is 
hard  for  an  old  man  who  has  always  lived  on 
his  own  land  to  be  dependent..  If  we  go  from 
here,  there  will  be  something  coming  to  me 
after  Mr.  Downing’s  claim  is  satisfied.  We 
will  sell  the  house,  the  cows,  every  thing  if 
we  must,  and  pay  ’Squire  Williams.  I should 
like  to  save  some  of  those  things  that  were 
my  fathers  and  my  mothers,  but  they  wouldn’t 
belong  to  me  if  I was  in  debt.” 

Mr.  Gray  saw  that  it  was  useless  to  argue 
the  matter  and  said,  “ Don’t  fail  to  call  upon 
me  if  I can  be  of  the  least  service  to  you.” 
Uncle  David  promised. 

Carl  must  now  say  good  bye,  a heavy  task 
for  him.  He  went  up  to  Deacon  Goodwin 
and  offered  his  hand,  saying,  “ I’ve  got  to  go 
home  to-morrow.  I wish  I hadn’t.  I wish  1 
eould  do  something  for  you.” 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


107 


“ I don’t  see  that  you  can,  my  son,”  was 
the  old  man’s  reply.  “Don’t  be  unhappy 
about  us ; remember,  ‘ our  help  cometh  from 
the  Lord ; ’ ” and  he  kissed  the  boy’s  smooth 
cheek.  Mrs.  Goodwin  also  kissed  him,  and 
gave  him  a kind  message  to  Emily,  who  had 
made  her  adieux  the  day  before. 

Carl  sat  in  the  cars  the  next  day  completely 
absorbed  in  thought.  The  near  prospect  of 
his  parent’s  return  did  not  divert  his  mind 
from  Uncle  David’s  trouble ; his  heart  was  full 
of  sympathy,  and  his  whole  soul  filled  with 
the  desire  to  avert  the  impending  blow.  But 
what  could  he  do  ? He,  a mere  boy,  depend- 
ent for  food  and  raiment,  with  not  a dime  he 
could  call  his  own,  but  the  moderate  allow- 
ance of  pocket  money  his  father  supplied 
every  month,  and  permitted  him  to  spend  as 
he  pleased ; what  was  that  when  thousands 
were  talked  of  ? “ What  can  I do  ? What 
can  I do  ? ” he  said  again  and  again.  The 


108 


CARL  BARTLETT  ; OR, 


question  repeated  and  re-repeated,  recalled,  by 
an  association  of  ideas  not  clear  to  his  mind, 
the  conversation  with  Miss  Howard  the  week 
after  his  mother’s  departure.  “ Aunt  Maria 
said,”  thought  he,  “ that  I would  do  some- 
thing to  help  mamma  while  she  was  way  off 
on  the  ocean,  and  mamma  herself  says  she 
has  a great  deal  better  time  because  she 
knows  we  don’t  fret  about  her.  Now  doesn’t 
it  look  as  if  I might  do  something  for  Uncle 
David.  How  kind  he  has  been  to  us  ? Uncle 
Carl,  too ; he  said  we  could  help  mamma.” 
Uncle  Carl ! Ah,  there  was  a gleam  there 
Uncle  Carl  was  a lawyer  ; he  had  often  heard 
his  father  say  that  he  hardly  ever  lost  a case. 
But  would  he  be  at  home  before  the  time  Mr. 
Downing  had  set  for  the  sale.  Well,  if  he 
was  not,  he  would  understand  all  about  it : he 
would  manage  it  some  way.  The  more  he 
thought,  the  more  sanguine  he  was  that 
through  Mr.  Randolph  would  come  the  deliv- 
erance for  Deacon  Goodwin. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


weight  off  his  mind,  Carl  could 
think  of  the  pleasure  in  store,  and, 
the  journey  ended,  bounded  up  the 
steps  of  his  own  home  ready  to  join 
heart  and  hand  in  the  preparations  going  on 
for  the  reception  of  the  travellers.  His 
first  question  was,  “ Has  grandmamma  had 
another  letter?”  Yes,  it  had  come  that 
morning.  The  day  for  sailing  was  the  fourth 
of  September.  “ They  won’t  get  here  till 
Uncle  David’s  place  is  sold,”  he  thought, 
“ but  no  matter ; Uncle  Carl  will  make  it  all 
right.” 

The  rooms  were  arranged,  flowers  were 
ordered,  and  all  things  were  in  readiness. 


110 


CARL  BARTLETT  ; OR, 


Carl  went  one  afternoon  to  the  reading-room, 
where  he  had  often  been  before  with  his 
father,  and  learned  that  the  steamer  had  ar- 
rived in  New  York.  “ They  will  take  the 
night  train  and  be  here  in  the  morning ; wo 
must  all  be  up  with  the  lark,”  said  Mrs. 
Randolph. 

Soon  after  daylight  the  next  morning,  a 
rail-road  coach,  filled  with  passengers  and 
loaded  with  baggage,  rumbled  along  the 
street  and  stopped  at  the  door.  “ Oh ! there’s 
mamma,”  cried  Emily,  as  she  almost  fell 
down  the  front  steps,  forgetful  of  her  hasty 
toilet,  quite  unconscious  of  the  smiles  of  the 
passengers,  and  utterly  oblivious  of  the  fact 
that  she  was  standing  directly  before  her 
mother  and  effectually  barring  her  way  to  the 
door.  Carl  was  here,  there,  every  where, 
speaking  now  to  his  father,  now  to  his  uncle, 
and  trying  to  crowd  a word  on  his  mother’s 
attention,  which  his  sister  appeared  deter- 


WHAT  CAN  I DOV 


111 


mined  to  monopolize.  “ Let  us  adjourn  to 
the  house,”  said  Mr.  Randolph,  taking  Emily 
by  both  arms,  and  lifting  her  up  to  the  door. 
Mrs.  Bartlett  and  Carl  followed ; then  the 
driver  could  bring  in  the  trunks ; there  were 
two  large  ones  which  had  not  the  old,  fa- 
miliar travel-worn,  battered  air  of  the  three 
which  left  home  in  the  spring. 

There  was  so  much  to  tell,  and  so  much  to 
hear,  that  it  was  not  till  night  when  Carl  was 
in  his  own  room,  an  hour  later  than  his  usual 
bedtime,  that  he  recollected  that  the  time  set 
for  the  sale  of  Deacon  Goodwin’s  place  had 
passed.  His  last  thought  before  falling  asleep 
was  of  the  appeal  he  intended  to  make  to  his 
Uncle  Carl  at  the  earliest  possible  moment  in 
the  morning.  Mr.  Randolph  did  not  come 
down  stairs  till  after  the  family  were  seated 
at  the  breakfast  table,  and  at  once  began  an 
amusing  description  of  the  perplexities  of  a 
compatriot  whom  he  had  encountered  at  dif 


112 


CABL  BARTLETT  ; OB, 


ferent  hotels,  and  who  had  all  the  French 
he  was  owner  of  between  the  covers  of  a 
stout  dictionary  and  a slender  phrase  book. 
Peal  after  peal  of  laughter  interrupted  the 
account  of  Jonathan’s  efforts  “ parler  Fran- 
caise,”  and  Mr.  Bartlett  was  at  last  obliged 
to  beg  the  postponement  of  the  ludicrous 
reminiscences,  lest  he  should  be  compelled 
go  breakfastless  to  his  business. 

Carl  took  advantage  of  the  lull  in  the  con 
versation,  and  said,  “ Uncle  Carl,  can’t  yon 
get  Uncle  David’s  place  back  for  him  ? ” 

“ Uncle  David  ? that’s  a new  relative ; 
sprung  up  lately,  has  he  ? I never  heard  of 
him  before,  but  perhaps  he  is  your  relative 
and  not  mine.” 

“ He’s  everybody’s  relation,”  said  Emily, 
“and  the  grandest  old  man  you  ever  saw. 
He’s  splendid.” 

“ Splendid,  is  he  ? ” asked  Mr.  Randolph, 
raising  his  eyebrows.  “ How  comes  it  that 


WHAT  CAN  I DO? 


113 


this  splendid  old  gentleman  has  lost  his  splen- 
did place  ? ” 

“ Oh,  it  isn’t  a splendid  place  at  all.  He 

borrowed  some  money the  story  of 

Deacon  Goodwin’s  embarrassment  was  told 
as  intelligibly  as  Carl  could  do  it. 

Mr.  Kandolph,  accustomed  to  hear  and 
weigh  evidence,  and  lacking  the  medium  of 
affectionate  interest  which  influenced  the 
boy’s  vision,  saw  at  once  the  obstacles  in  the 
way  of  a satisfactory  settlement. 

“ I don’t  see  much  chance  for  your  Uncle 
David,”  said  he. 

“ Oh,  do,  do  something,  do  try,”  besought 
Carl.  “ Papa  said  you  was  the  best  lawyer 
he  knew  of.” 

“It  don’t  make  much  difference  whether 
a lawyer  is  good  or  bad  ; if  he  has  nothing 
to  rest  his  case  upon,  he  is  pretty  sure  to  be 
beaten.  Look  out  of  the  window  there,  Carl ; 
see  those  men  trying  to  move  those  heavy 


114 


CARL  RARTLETT  ; OR, 


stones  for  the  new  house.  I’ve  been  watch* 
ing  them  several  minutes,  and  wondering 
why  they  do  not  get  something  to  rest  their 
iron  bars  upon.  There  comes  the  master 
workman ; he  has  got  a solid  piece  of  tim- 
ber ; he  is  putting  it  close  to  the  stone,  now 
the  men  can  pry.  See,  over  goes  the  stone. 
Give  me  something  to  pry  against,  and  I am 
not  afraid  to  stand  beside  any  man  in  the 
profession.  But  just  look  at  your  friend’s 
case,  Carl.  Here  is  an  old  gentleman  bor- 
rows money  from  this  Mr.  Downing  and  gives 
him  a mortgage  on  his  farm  for  security. 
So  far  they  both  agree.  The  creditor  de- 
mands payment.  The  debtor  obtains  the 
amount  of  a friend.  The  evidence  of  that  is 
quite  clear ; but  instead  of  paying  over  the 
money  himself  and  securing  the  discharge, 
he  trusts  the  money  to  a young  man  whose 
reputation  is  far  from  good,  directs  him  to 
pay  the  note  and  deposit  the  proof  with  the 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


115 


old  gentleman’s  man  of  business.  The  young 
man  returns,  reports  that  he  has  executed 
his  commission,  but  a few  days  after  disap- 
pears, and  has  not  been  heard  from  since. 
The  man  of  business  has  never  seen  the 
papers  ; they  are  in  the  hands  of  the  creditor 
who  asserts  that  he  never  received  the  pay- 
ment. Cannot  you  see  the  case  has  not  a 
leg  to  stand  upon  ? The  lawyer  who  should 
take  up  such  a case  would  be  a laughing 
stock.” 

Stated  in  this  terse,  relentless  manner,  Carl 
could  not  but  acknowledge  that  there  was 
little  for  Uncle  David  to  rest  his  claim  upon ; 
that  Mr.  Randolph  was  indeed  right.  What  a 
sad  downfall  to  his  hopes.  He  had  been  so 
sure  that  his  uncle,  with  all  his  legal  skill, 
would  find  some  way  of  clearing  up  his  old 
friend’s  difficulties ; and  now  to  have  that 
skill  only  used  to  make  them  stand  out  in  a 
slronger  light!  He  sat  a few  moments  in 


116  CARL  BARTLETT;  OR, 

silent  thought : he  could  not  give  up  without 
one  more  effort. 

“ May  be  I have  not  told  you  everything, 
Uncle  Carl.  May  be  I don’t  understand  all 
about  it.  Uncle  David  said  he  knew  the 
place  was  his,  and  after  we  went  to  see  Mr. 
Downing,  Mr.  Gray  said  he  was  almost  cer- 
tain the  man  was  telling  lies  about  it.” 

“ Yes,  but  my  dear  boy ! that  is  not  evi 
dence.  You  and  I may  be  certain  of  a thing 
in  our  own  minds,  and  yet  not  be  able  to 
persuade  others  to  believe  it.  We  must  have 
a very  clear  case  before  we  can  induce  judges 
or  juries  to  go  behind  the  records,  in  real 
estate  transactions.  If  it  were  not  so,  we 
should  never  any  of  us  know  whether  we 
were  to  have  a roof  to  sleep  under.  I am 
sorry  I can  do  nothing  to  help  your  old  friend, 
who  has  been  so  kind  to  you.” 

“ You  can’t  think  how  good  he  was,”  said 
limily ; and  the  brother  and  sister  vied  with 


WHAT  CAN  I DO? 


117 


each  other  in  setting  forth  the  virtues  of 
Deacon  Goodwin,  until  father  and  mother  and 
uncle  felt  that  they  too  were  acquainted  with 
the  “ splendid  old  man.” 

“ It  is  a pity,  a sad  pity,”  said  Mrs.  Ran- 
dolph, “that  he  should  suffer  so  for  the  mis- 
deeds of  his  son.” 

“ A cruel  piece  of  wicked  selfishness  on  his 
part,”  said  Mr.  Randolph. 

“ I don’t  believe  Josiah  took  the  money,” 
said  Carl.  “ He  would  not  cheat  his  own 
father  that  way.” 

“ I am  not  so  sure  of  that,”  said  Mr.  Ran- 
dolph. “ There  is  a stage  in  life  which  some 
young  people  pass  through,  a stage  which  I 
hope  and  believe  my  nephew  and  niece  will 
serve  as  they  sometimes  do  the  prosy  pages 
in  a story  book,  skip  it.  I have  heard  it 
called  ‘the  ungrateful  age.’  When  it  is 
reached,  the  youth  feels  his  own  importance 
ip  the  world,  and  does  not  find  others  as 


118 


CARL  BARTLETT  ; OR, 


ready  to  acknowledge  it  as  he  wishes,  or  as 
perhaps  they  should  be.  Confident  of  his 
own  abilities,  and  of  the  correctness  of  his 
own  opinions,  impatient  of  parental  guidance, 
the  experience  of  others  is  to  him,  only  the 
stone  in  the  other  end  of  the  bag ; he  knows 
a far  better  way  of  carrying  his  corn  to  mill. 
When  a boy  is  in  this  irritable,  self-sufficient 
state  of  mind,  then  designing  people  find  him 
open  to  their  advances : wicked  associates 
draw  him  into  bad  habits,  or  those  old  in  sin 
mould  him  in  accordance  with  their  own 
plans.  Many  a poor  fellow  has  been  thus  led 
to  commit  deeds  which  have  given  him  food 
for  bitter  reflection  all  the  remainder  of  his 
life;  deeds  the  thought  of  which  he  would 
have  scouted  in  calmer  days,  saying,  ‘ Is  thy 
servant  a dog,  that  he  should  do  this  great 
thing  ? ’ Now  it  appears  to  me  this  might 
have  been  just  this  young  man’s  case ; well- 
intentioned  in  the  main,  it  may  be,  he  has 


WHAT  CAN  I DO? 


119 


allowed  himself  to  be  led  away,  and  had  not 
the  courage  to  face  the  consequences  of  his 
error,  but  left  the  aged  father  and  mother  to 
bear  them  as  best  they  might.” 

“ Then  you  won’t  try  to  help  Uncle  David,” 
said  Carl. 

“ What  can  I do  ? ” 

The  boy  left  the  room  without  saying 
another  word ; his  sister  followed  him  to  the 
library,  where  they  talked  over  their  hopes  and 
their  disappointments. 

“ I have  a plan  in  my  mind,”  said  Mrs. 
Bartlett,  as  soon  as  the  young  people  were 
gone. 

“ Let  us  hear  it,”  said  her  brother. 

“We  have  had  a delightful  tour ; we  have 
been  delivered  in  times  of  peril,  and  we  have 
come  back  to  find  our  loved  ones  in  health 
and  our  home  all  sunshine.  ‘ From  the 
ground  of  my  heart’  I am  thankful;  so  I 
know  both  of  you  are.  I think  the  best  way 


120 


CARL  BARTLETT ; OB, 


to  give  thanks  is  to  do  something  to  make 
others  happy.  Now  let  us  bring  our  thank- 
offerings,  and  see  if  we  cannot  drive  away  the 
cloud  that  has  settled  over  that  old  couple. 
Arthur  and  I will  furnish  the  means.  Carl, 
my  brother,  you  must  do  the  business.  Am 
I right,  Arthur  ? ” 

“ My  wife  is  always  right,”  replied  Mr, 
Bartlett.  “ Draw  upon  me  for  the  amount, 
Carl.” 

* 

“ I think  I will  draw  upon  your  humble 
servant  for  a part,”  returned  Mr.  Randolph. 
“ I ought  to  have  thought  of  this  before.  I 
hope  Deacon  Goodwin  will  not  refuse  tho 
gift.” 

“ Oh,  you  can  manage  that.  I don’t  fear,” 
said  Mrs.  Bartlett. 

“ I will  try.  At  any  rate  I believe  in  de- 
spatching business.  A hundred  or  two  miles 
is  not  much  after  the  thousands  we  have 
walked,  sailed  and  rode  over.” 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


121 


Mr.  Randolph  was  missing  from  the  dinner 
table. 

“ Where  is  Uncle  Carl?  ” Emily  asked. 

“ He  had  business  that  called  him  away,” 
her  mother  replied.  “ He  thought  he  should 
be  back  in  a day  or  two.” 

“ It’s  too  bad  for  him  to  go  off  again  just 
as  he  has  got  home ; we  wanted  to  see  him 
a little  while.” 

“ So  it  is,”  chimed  in  Carl. 

“ And  it’s  real  mean  of  him  not  to  help 
Uncle  David.” 

“ So  it  is,”  Carl  again  asserted.  “ I don’t 
believe  but  what  he  could  if  he  had  a mind 
to.” 

“ Come,  come,  my  son,”  Mr.  Bartlett  re- 
monstrated. 

“Well,  I don’t  care.  He’s  always  telling 
us  to  do  all  we  can  to  help  other  people ; we 
mustn’t  say,  can’t ; there’s  nothing  like,  ‘ I’ll 
try,’  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.” 


122 


CARL  BARTLETT;  OR, 


“ That  is  right ; that  is  good  advice.  Isn’t 
it  ? ” asked  the  father. 

“ I don’t  see  why  it  ain’t  good  advice  for 
him,  if  it  is  for  me.  Grown-up  folks  are 
always  advising  us ; why  can’t  they  take 
some  of  it  to  themselves  ? It  makes  me  think 
of  what  Aunt  Maria  was  reading  last  Sunday. 
The  man  said  that  a good  many  people 
thought  that  all  the^bad  things  the  Bible  said 
were  going  to  happen,  were  going  to  happen 
to  the  Jews;  and  all  the  good  things  it 
told  about  were  going  to  happen  to  the 
Christians.  There’s  lots  of  grown-up  folks 
that  seem  to  think  all  the  must,  and  ought 
and  try,  are  for  us  boys  and  girls  ; and  all  the 
‘ do  as  you’re  amind  to  ’ belongs  to  them.” 

“ Did  you  ever  see  any  boy  or  girl  who 
wants  more  than  his  or  her  share  of  the  do 
as  you’re  mind  to  ? It  seems  to  me  I have  a 
dim  recollection  of  something  of  the  kind. 
We  will  excuse  you  from  talking  any  more  in 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


123 


that  way  of  your  uncle,  for  some  time  you 
may  be  ashamed  of  it.” 

Carl,  checked  by  his  father’s  reproof,  swal- 
lowed his  dinner  in  silence,  all  the  while 
nursing  his  disappointment  and  vexation. 
While  he  was  uttering  his  complaints,  Mr. 
Randolph  was  in  the  lower  cloud  region,  not 
in  reverie,  and  borne  on  the  curling  fumes  of 
a noxious  weed,  but  in  actual  fact,  in  a rail- 
road car,  drawn  by  a locomotive,  which  puffed 
and  panted  up  the  steep  grades  of  the  Green 
Mountains,  till  the  ponderous  thing  was  on  a 
level  with  the  fleecy  clouds  themselves.  It 
was  vapor  raging  and  struggling  to  be  free, 
that  brought  the  monster  and  its  burden 
there ; it  was  vapor  free,  that  floated  beau- 
teous in  form  and  motion  about  it.  Mr. 
Randolph  gathered  from  chance  passengers 
much  of  the  information  we  will  now  give 
our  readers. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


[ HE  fifteenth  day  of  September  was 
fair.  Every  man  in  Clifton  who 
could  possibly  be  present  at  the  sale 
was  there,  and  quite  a number  came 
from  the  neighboring  towns.  Deacon  and 
Mrs.  Goodwin  sat  in  their  accustomed  places 
in  “ the  living  room ; ” neighbors  and  friends 
had  followed  Mr.  Gray’s  example,  and  thrown 
open  their  doors,  had  begged  them  to  accept 
hospitality,  if  only  for  that  day,  well  knowing 
that  many  things  would  be  said  and  done 
which  could  not  fail  to  wound  the  feelings 
of  the  venerable  couple.  But  Deacon  Good- 
win had  steadily  refused  all  such  invitations, 


124 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


125 


reiterating  his  determination  to  remain  in  pos- 
session of  his  rightful  property,  until  com- 
pelled to  give  it  up. 

A few  of  those  who  were  on  most  intimate 
terms  with  them,  came,  shook  hands  with  the 
old  people,  uttered  a few  sympathizing  words, 
and  went  out.  Not  one  of  the  inhabitants  of 
Clifton,  to  their  honor  be  it  said,  had  a 
thought  of  examining  the  premises  with  a 
view  to  purchase.  Mr.  Downing  officiously 
conducted  strangers  over  the  house  and  farm, 
enlarging  upon  the  merits,  regardless  of  the 
question,  whether  his  loudly  expressed  com- 
mendations reached  the  ears  of  the  occupants 
or  not. 

Jotham  Hodgkins  moved  about  in  the 
crowd,  eyeing  and  dogging  the  steps  of  any 
stranger  who  seemed  bent  on  investigations. 
Mr.  Downing  came  out  of  the  barn  with 
two  men,  and  the  three  passed  directly  into 
the  house.  Jotham  stood  talking  with  Mr. 


120 


CARL  BARTLETT;  OR, 


Wright.  “ Guess  I’ll  jest  go  an’  look  arter 
them  chaps,”  said  ’Squire  Williams’  man. 
“ When  I see  that  ere  Downin’  reound  ther 
Deacon,  I can’t  think  er  nothin’  but  one  uv 
them  ere  miserble  flies  as  gits  inter  er  horse’s 
ears  an’  draws  ther  blood ; seems  es  tho’  I 
ought  ter  drive  him  off.” 

Mr.  Downing  and  the  strangers  were  leav- 
ing the  sitting  room  just  as  Jotham  entered 
it ; their  footsteps  were  soon  heard  above  in 
the  attic,  where  were  deposited  many  relics  of 
by-gone  days. 

“ They’re  jest  like  them  ere  frogs  yer  read 
on  in  the  Bible,”  said  Jotham ; “ they  come 
inter  ther  house,  an’  inter  ther  bed  chamber, 
an’  inter  ther  beds,  an’  inter  ther  oven,  an’ 
inter  ther  kneadin’  troughs ; but  them  ain’t 
no  sich  ’spectuble  critters  as  frogs,  them’s 
toads,  misuble  toads.  There,  they’re  up  gar- 
ret neow ; guess  I’d  better  go  an’  pitch  ’em 
eout  ther  winder.” 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


127 


“ No,  nOj  Jotham,”  said  Deacon  Goodwin, 
“ they  won’t  be  here  long.” 

Jotham  waited  in  the  house  until  he  was 
sure  that  Mr.  Downing  had  left  it ; then  he 
went  out  into  the  yard  and  found  that  the 
auctioneer  had  arrived ; he  was  standing, 
looking  round  on  the  assembled  crowd.  Jo- 
tham elbowred  his  way  up  to  him,  and  asked, 
“ Yer  ther  feller  that’s  come  ter  auction  this 
ere  farm  ? ” 

“ That  is  my  business  here,”  was  the  reply. 

“ Wall,  sposin’  yer  jest  look  er  here  er 
minit;”  and  Jotham  led  the  man  to  a spot 
where  he  could,  without  being  himself  seen, 
have  a full  view  of  Deacon  Goodwin  and  his 
wife.  “ There,  them’s  ther  old  folks  yer 
goin’  ter  turn  eout  er  door ; he  never  lived 
nowheres  else,  an’  his  father  lived  here  afore 
him.  There  ain’t  no  better,  piouser  folks  in 
this  teown  than  them  ere  ole  folks,  and  them’s 
ther  folks  yer  goin’  ter  send  ter  ther  poor 


128 


CARL  BARTLETT;  OR, 


house ; neow,  don’t  yer  feel  ’shamed  er  yer- 
self?  Don’t  yer  think  yer  in  kinder  mean 
bizness  ? ” 

The  auctioneer  fixed  his  bright  eyes,  for  a 
moment,  on  the  face  of  his  interlocutor,  and, 
realizing  that  his  indignation  was  caused  by 
his  warm  interest  in5  the  venerable  deacon 
and  his  wife,  frankly  answered,  “ Yes,  I do. 
I knew  nothing  about  the  owner  of  the  prop- 
erty before  I came  here  this  afternoon.” 

“ Give  us  yer  fist,”  said  Jotham,  extending 
his  brawny  hand ; “ yer  a cleverer  feller  than 
I took  yer  fer.  Most  time,  ain’t  it  ? ” 

“ Wants  only  three  minutes,”  said  the  auc- 
tioneer, taking  out  his  watch  with  his  left 
hand,  while  Jotham  shook  his  right. 

“ Wall,  I’d  like  to  orate  jest  a leetle  ; yer 
won’t  be  in  no  great  hurry  ter  begin  fur  five 
minutes  or  so,  I ’spose  ? ” 

“We  cannot  delay  long. 

“ Wall,  then,  here  goes.” 


WHAT  CAN  I DO? 


129 


Jotham  vaulted  to  the  top  of  the  fence,  and 
holding  on  by  one  arm  to  the  gate-post,  had 
the  other  free  for  gesticulation.  He  com- 
menced speaking  in  a loud  voice.  The  scat- 
tered groups  collected  about  him  and  formed  a 
solid  human  barrier.  Mr.  Downing  and  the 
two  men  who  had  been  examining  the  house 
and  grounds  were  left  on  the  outside  of  the 
crowd 

“ I ain’t  much  used  ter  oratin,”  said  Jo- 
tham, “ but  I ken  tell  folks  what  I know ; 
neow  I know  this  ere  farm’s  er  putty  good 
farm.  I dunno’  as  some  farms  ain’t  better 
farms,  but  this  ere  farm’s  putty  good  ; it’s  got 
upland  an’  medder,  an’  wood  lot,  jest  ’beout 
right.  I’ve  lived  in  Clifton  three,  four  year, 
an’  I kinder  feel’s  though  I was  Clifton  folks 
long  on  ther  rest  on  ’em,  an’  they  knows 
Uncle  David  putty  well,  an’  Clifton  folks,  they 
don’t  none  on  ’em  want  ter  be  tolt  nothin’ 
’beaut  this  ere  farm,  ner  ’beaut  what  sort  uv 


130 


CARL  BARTLETT;  OR, 


er  time  the  chap’ll  heve  es  buys  it.  We’ve  got 
er  plenty  uv  rale  good  fences  reound  here,  but 
we  ain’t  goin’  ter  pull  none  on  ’em  ter  pieces 
jest  ter  git  a rail  ter  give  ther  chap  es  lives  in 
Uncle  David’s  house  er  ride.  There’s  tar 
’nuff  reound  somewheres,  an’  ther  ain’t  none 
uv  these  houses  reound  here  es  ain’t  got  rale 
good  pillers  in  ’em  stuffed  with  rale  live  goose 
feathers ; neow  we  ain’t  goin’  ter  waste  none 
uv  that  ere  tar,  ner  rip  up  none  uv  them  ere 
pillers  ter  give  that  chap  er  suit  er  close. 
That  ere  chap’ll  have  er  plenty  er  room  in  his 
house,  ’cause  there  won’t  no  Clifton  folks 
never  trouble  him  cornin’  inter  it ; they  won’t 
want  ter  sell  him  nothin’ ; they  won’t  want 
ter  buy  nothin’  on  him:  he’ll  heve  jest  as 
good  er  time  in  this  ere  teown  es  ther  feller 
thought  he  should  heve  ef  he  could  ony  keep 
tavern  arter  all  ther  rest  uv  ther  folks  was 
dead.’’ 

“ Isn’t  it  time  to  commence  this  sale,  Mr. 
Auctioneer  ? ” shouted  Mr.  Downing. 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


131 


The  auctioneer,  who  was  standing  with  his 
back  to  Jotham,  turned  round,  closed  the 
memorandum-book  he  had  been  writing  in, 
looked  at  liis  watch,  very  deliberately  re- 
turned it  to  his  pocket,  and  answered,  “ Quite 
time,”  and  began. 

46  What  am  I offered  for  this  parcel  of  real 
estate ; what  am  I offered ; give  me  a bid,  gen 
tlemen,  just  start  it,  gentlemen  ; any  thing 
you  say,  gentlemen,  only  give  me  a bid.” 

Not  a person  answered.  If  any  had  come 
with  the  intention  of  bidding,  Jotham’s 
speech,  and  the  manifest  favor  with  which  it 
was  received,  made  them  ashamed  to  speak. 

The  auctioneer  paused  for  breath,  and  be- 
gan  again. 

“ What  am  I offered  for  this  very  valuable 
farm  tillage  mowing  and  wood-lot ; don’t  all 
speak  at  once  gentlemen  ; give  me  a thousand 
dollars  ? ” 


Still  no  answer. 


132 


CARL  BARTLETT;  OR, 


“ Bidding  don’t  seem  to  be  very  lively, 
Mr.  Downing,”  said  the  auctioneer.  “ I think 
ve  shall  have  to  postpone  this  sale  till  a fair 
day,  when  we  can  gather  a large  company,” 
and  he  descended  from  the  block,  amid  shouts 
of  laughter. 

“ I suppose  you  think  you  have  done  a 
mighty  smart  thing,  Jotham  Hodgkins,”  said 
Mr.  Downing,  speaking  so  as  to  be  heard  by 
all  present ; “ but  I don’t  see  it  in  that  light. 
If  we  had  sold  to-day,  there  might  have  been 
something  left  for  the  deacon  ; now,  I’ll  sell 
at  private  sale  for  my  claim  and  expenses.” 

“ Them  as  buys  ’ll  git  a fust  rate  title,” 
retorted  Jotham;  but  as  he  strode  towards 
’Squire  Williams’  house,  ten  minutes  later, 
his  reflections  were  far  from  pleasant. 

“ Ther  fools  ain’t  all  dead  yet,”  he  mut- 
tered, “ an’  I don’t  know  as  Jotham  Hodg- 
kins ain’t  one  on  ’em.  Jotham  Hodgkins* 
yer’d  better  let  oratin’  ’lone  for  the  Alter ; 
’(ain’t  yer  trade.”  - 


WHAT  CAN  I DO? 


133 


While  “ doing  his  chores  ” he  was  mentally 
engaged  in  an  effort  to  decide  whether,  by  an 
unwonted  display  of  oratory,  he  had  aided 
Deacon  Goodwin,  or  had  plunged  him  deeper 
into  difficulty. 

“ Wall,  what’s  did’s,  did,”  thought  he,  after 
turning  the  matter  over  and  over  in  his  mind, 
“ what’s  did  is  did,  an’  can’t  be  ondid. 
There  ain’t  no  use  in  cryin’  fur  spilt  milk 
neether ; best  way  is  ter  see  ef  yer  can’t  git 
neether  pail  full  somewheres,  do  suthin’  so 
’twon’t  be  so  bad  arter  all.” 

Jotham  thrust  his  hands  into  his  pockets, 
threw  up  his  chin,  and  concluded,  “I’ll 
send  the  ’Square  over  ter  Mr.  Downings  to- 
morrer  mornin’  an’  tell  him  ter  holt  on  er 
while,  an’  I’ll  trot  reound  an’  see  ef  we  can’t 
git  the  money  tergether.  Dunno  as  I ken ; 
ain’t  no  harm  tryin’.  I ain’t  got  mor’n  a 
hundred  or  so  loose  cash  jest  neow.  An’ 
ther  ’Square  he’s  short  ’nuff  jest  neow  ; lieve 


L34 


CARL  BARTLETT. 


ter  loose  what  he  lent  Uncle  David,  I s’pose. 
Couldn’t  be  a wus  time  ter  pick  up  a thousan’ 
or  tew  dollers  ’mong  ther  farmers ; ain’t 
no  harm  tryin’ ; give  ther  deacon  a leetle 
breathin’  spell  eny  heow.” 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

IDE  with  me,  Jaques,”  said  Mr. 
Downing,  as  he  unhitched  his  horse 
from  the  front  fence. 

“Well,  I suppose  I might  as 

well.” 

“ Going  our  way,  Mins  ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ Get  right  in,”  said  Mr.  Downing.  “ I’ll 
carry  you  as  far  as  I go  on  your  road.” 

The  two  men  whom  he  had  depended  on 
as  bidders  accepted  the  invitation. 

“ I’ll  come  up  with  that  Jotham  yet,”  said 
Mr.  Downing. 

“ Who  is  he  ? ” 

135 


136 


CARL  BARTLETT  ; OR, 


“ He’s  a green  country  gawk  that’s  been 
’Squire  Williams  hired  man  for  a few  years.” 
“ Oh,  I supposed  he  was  on  his  own  land, 
he  flourishes  round  so.”  • 

“ To  be  sure  he  does.  I’ll  take  some  of 
the  flourish  out  of  him  though.  What  do 
you  say,  Mins?  want  to  buy  that  place  for 
twenty-five  hundred  dollars  ? ” 

“ I thought  you  said  you’d  sell  it  for  your 
claim.” 

“ My  claim  and  expenses.  Back  interest, 
and  so  on.” 

“ Wel-l,  I don’t  know.” 

“ Why,  man  ! It’s  worth  twice  that  if  it’s 
worth  a dollar.” 

“ Yes,  I know  if  the  title  was  good ’t  would 
be ; but  I don’t  exactly  like  the  notion  of 
putting  money  onto  a piece  of  property  a 
man  might  be  ousted  out  of.” 

“ Who’s  going  to  oust  yer  ? The  old  man 
will  never  make  out  the  money.” 


WHAT  CAN  I DO? 


137 

" No,  I don’t  s’pose  he  will ; but  how  about 
that  youngster  ? ” 

“ Josiah?  He’ll  never  trouble  you.” 

“ I don’t  know  ’bout  that,”  interposed 
Jaques  ; “ he  went  off  in  a hurry  ; who  knows 
but  he’ll  come  back  in  the  same  way  ? 
Stranger  things  have  happened.” 

“ Oh,  poll ! I tell  you  there  ain’t  the  least 
chance  in  the  world  of  his  coming  back,” 
said  Mr.  Downing.  “ He’s  got  reason  enough 
for  staying  away.  Don’t  you  s’pose,  if  he 
should  show  his  head  in  these  parts,  the  first 
thing  would  be,  where’s  that  two  thousand 
dollars  ? I tell  you  he  hain’t  got  anything 
to  say  to  that  question,  and  he’ll  look  out 
mighty  sharp  not  to  run  against  it.” 

“ What  if  he  didn’t  take  the  money  away 
with  him?”  said  Jaques. 

“ I tell  you  he  did,”  retorted  Mr.  Down- 
ing. “ What’s  become  of  it  if  he  didn’t  ? ” 

“ I like  the  farm,”  said  Mins.  “ With  a 


188 


CARL  BARTLETT;  OR, 


smart  man  to  carry  it  on,  it  would  pay  first 
rate ; but  I guess  I’d  better  let  it  alone.” 

“ Suppose  we  call  it  twenty-three  hundred,” 
said  Mr.  Downing. 

“ I’ll  think  about  it  a little  while  first. 
You  see,  the  fact  is,  I ain’t  very  squeamish, 
and  if  I could  get  clean  papers  I don’t  know 
but  I might  buy.  But  them  two  old  folks 
there,  in  that  sitting  room,  they  kinder  foller 
me.  I s’pose  I’d  get  used  to  it  in  a while, 
but  ’twould  be  a while  before  I could  go  into 
that  sitting  room  and  not  see  ’em.” 

“ That’s  a fact,”  said  Jaques. 

“ If  they’d  had  any  decency  they’d  have 
cleared  out  before  to-day,”'  said  Mr.  Down- 
ing; they  had  notice  enough.  I saw  what 
they  were  up  to ; trying  to  make  everybody 
pity  ’em,  so  they  wouldn’t  dare  to  bid.  Well, 
I can’t  spend  my  time  going  back  and  forth, 
make  it  twenty-two  hundred.” 

Mins  hesitated.  “ What  do  you  say,  Jaques. 
Would  you  take  the  place  ? ” 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


139 


“ I don’t  want  it.” 

;i  Why  not  ? It’s  a good  trade,  isn’t  it  ? ” 

“ I don’t  know  but  it  is.” 

“ Why  don’t  you  want  it,  then  ? Afraid 
of  your  wife  ? ” Ha-ha-ha,  laughed  Mins. 

“ No,  I ain’t  afraid  of  my  wife ; but  she 
wouldn’t  sleep  a night  in  that  house  if  she’d 
seen  the  old  deacon  and  his  wife  this  after- 
noon. If  I should  take  the  farm  she’d  be 
sure  to  find  it  out,  and  then  there  would  not 
be  a minute’s  peace.” 

“ My  wife  has  to  do  as  I say,”  said  Mr. 
Downing. 

“ So  they  say,”  retorted  Jaques. 

“ Then  you  don’t  advise  me  to  buy,”  said 
Mins. 

“I  don’t  advise  you  anything  about  it. 
All  I say  is,  I don’t  want  the  place,  and  I 
know  my  wife  would  not  want  it.  This  is  the 
road  we  take  to  ketch  the  up  stage,  isn’t 
it?” 


140 


CARL  BARTLETT  ; OR, 


“Yes,”  said  Mr.  Downing.  “Well,  Mr. 
Mins,  if  you  want  that  place  for  twenty-two 
hundred  dollars,  you’d  better  take  it  quick ; 
’twon’t  be  in  the  market  long  at  that  price.” 

“ I’ll  let  you  know  if  I want  it.” 

Mr.  Downing  drove  away,  and  the  two  men 
walked  rapidly  to  meet  the  stage. 

“ That  farm  is  cheap  enough,  Jaques.” 

“ I don’t  say  it  isn’t,  but  if  you  take  my 
advice,  you’ll  let  that  Downing  alone.  He 
ain’t  the  sort  of  man  I like  to  trade  with.” 

“ If  I could  hold  the  property  two  or  three 
years,  then  I should  be  safe  enough.” 

“ Yes,  if  the  boy  didn’t  turn  up.” 

“ Downing  is  right  enough  about  that. 
He’ll  be  ashamed  to  show  himself,  and  if  he 
should,  he’ll  find  it  hard  work  to  oust  me.  I 
should  be  in  possession  ; if  he  should  come 
home  with  half  a dozen  bags  of  gold  on  his 
back,  as  the  runaway  boys  do  in  the  story 
books,  he  could  buy  me  off,  and  he’d  have  to 
pay  roundly  for  my  improvements.” 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


141 


“ You  know  your  own  affairs,  but  I shouldn’t 
bo  easy  in  that  house,  thinking  all  the  time, 
that  like  as  not,  it  belonged  to  the  old  folks. 
I’m  just  about  sure  there’s  something  wrong 
there.  If  there  ain’t,  what  does  Downing 
hurry  up  things  so  for  ? They  told  me  there 
to-day,  the  first  the  old  gentlemen  knew  of  it, 
was  seeing  the  advertisement  in  the  news- 
paper ; and  Downing  didn’t  leave  a day ; he 
set  the  time  for  the  auction  the  very  day  the 
last  advertisement  came  out.  You  or  I’d 
think  we  ought  to  have  more  notice  than 
that.” 

“ ’Tis  rather  rough.” 

“ Kough ! I guess  it  is.  If  I’d  known  how 
it  was,  I wouldn’t  have  set  foot  inside  that 
door.  And  I tell  you  what  it  is,  Mins,  if  you 
have  anything  to  do  with  that  place  you’ll 
rue  it.” 

“ May  be  I shall,  but  ’tain’t  me  that’s  sell- 
ing the  old  man  up ; if  I don’t  buy  the  place, 
somebody  else  will.” 


142 


CARL  BARTLETT;  OR, 


“Then  it’ll  be  somebody  else  that’ll  have 
trouble  about  it.  There’ll  be  trouble  as  sure 
as  fate.  If  there’s  nothing  worse,  the  whole 
town  will  be  against  you ; it’ll  be  a good  deal 

as  that  chap  said.” 

* 

“ I don’t  care  that  for  his  bluster,”  re- 
turned Mins,  snapping  his  finger  and  thumb 
together.  “ When  a man  tries  to  bully  me, 
I’m  all  the  more  determined  to  have  my  own 
way.” 

“ Why  did  you  not  bid,  then  ? ” 

“ Oh,  I thought  I wouldn’t.  Likely  ’nough 
the  town’s  people  will  be  sulky,  but  that 
would  blow  over  before  long.” 

“ I’ve  told  you  what  I think.” 

“ ’Bleged  to  you  for  the  advice.” 

“ That  you  don’t  mean  to  take  ? ” 

“ I don’t  know  but  I do.” 

But  the  more  the  man  thought  of  the  cul- 
tivated farm,  capable  of  so  much  greater 
improvement,  and  of  the  absurdly  low  price 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


143 


at  which  it  was  offered,  the  less  important 
seemed  Jaques  objections  and  scruples.  And 
so  he  thought,  and  thought,  of  the  induce- 
ments to  close  the  bargain,  always  thrusting 
aside  the  picture  as  it  would  rise  before  his 
mind’s  eye,  of  the  patriarch  going  out  from 
his  inheritance. 

’Squire  Williams  was  duly  “ sent  ” by  Jo- 
tbam  the  next  morning  to  open  negotiations 
with  Mr.  Downing.  Heartily  sympathizing 
with  Deacon  Goodwin,  he  was  ready  to  act 
upon  any  suggestion  which  gave  hope  of  re- 
lief. 

Mr.  Downing  received  ’Squire  Williams 
with  ostentatious  cordiality ; he  wished  his 
partners  to  believe  him  to  be  on  good  terms 
with  the  leading  men  of  Clifton. 

“ Good  morning,  ’Squire  Williams,  good 
morning,  sir.” 

“ Good  morning,  Mr.  Downing.  You  are 
quite  busy,  I see.  I will  tell  my  business  at 
once.” 


144 


CARL  rartlett;  or, 


“ No  busier  than  usual,”  said  Mr.  Down- 
ing, rubbing  his  hands,  “ we  are  always  busy, 
in  fact ; always  glad  to  see  our  friends, 
though.” 

’Squire  Williams  stated  his  errand.  Mr. 
Downing  listened  with  a deferential  air,  shook 
his  head  with  a concerned  air,  and  said, 
“ Now  I do  wish,  ’Squire  Williams,  you  had 
spoken  of  this  yesterday  ; then  I could  have 
said  yes  or  no,  at  once.  I should  be  most 
happy  to  oblige  you,  but  I’m  a man  of  my 
word.  . What  I say,  I mean ; what  I mean, 
I stick  to.  No,  the  fact  is,  I gave  a man  the 
refusal  of  that  place  yesterday.  I’m  very 
sorry,  sir,  but  I know  you  wouldn’t  have  me 
break  my  word.” 

’Squire  Williams  soon  took  his  leave. 
“ bowed  out  ” by  the  polite  Mr.  Downing, 
who  returned  to  his  place  behind  the  coun 
tei,  well  pleased  that  he  had  had  the  cppor 
tunity  of  refusing  a favor  to  the  former  chair 
man  of  Clifton  School  Committee. 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


145 


In  the  course  of  the  day,  Mins  appeared. 
“ I’ve  been  thinking  over  that  farm,”  said  he. 

“ Been  several  in  this  morning,  talking 
about  it,”  said  Mr.  Downing.  “ Let  me  see, 
what  did  I offer  it  to  you  for  ? Twenty-five 
hundred,  wasn’t  it  ? ” 

“ Twenty-two  at  last.” 

“ Twenty-two  ? ” repeated  Mr.  Downing, 
with  well  feigned  surprise,  “ too  low,  too 
low.  Don’t  see  what  I was  thinking  of.  I 
could  get  more  for  it.  I shall  lose  money, 
but  I’m  a man  of  my  word  ; if  I said  so,  I 
shall  have  to  let  you  have  it.  I always  stick 
to  a bargain,  if  it  does  go  against  me.” 

“ I’ve  been  thinking  it  over,  and  I guess 
I might  as  well  trade.” 

“ Pay  cash  ? ” 

“ Yes,  cash  down  when  I get  the  deed.” 

“ When  do  you  want  it  ? ” 

“Well — you  — see,”  Mins  stammered, took 
a piece  of  twine  from  the  counter,  twisted  it 


146 


CARL  BARTLETT;  OR, 


round  liis  finger,  tied  and  untied  it,  put  the 
end  into  his  mouth  and  began  chewing  it, 
while  Mr.  Downing  stood  waiting  for  his 
answer. 

“ You  see  — the  fact  — is  — when’s  the  old 
deacon  going  to  move  ? ” burst  at  last  from 
his  lips. 

“ That  needn’t  give  you  any  difficulty. 
He’ll  go  when  you  are  ready  to  come.” 
“That’s  it.  I’d  rather  he’d  go  ’fore  I 
come.” 

“ All  right.  He  shall  go  when  you  say.” 

“ You  see,  I’d  like  the  place,  and  if  it’s 
going  to  be  sold  I might  as  well  have  it  as 
anybody  ; but  I can’t  turn  the  old  folks  out. 
I want  to  move  week  after  next,  say  Tuesday, 
and  1 don’t  want  to  be  moving  in  while  lie’s 

going  out 1 mean,  I can’t  see  the  deacon 

and  the  old  lady  there  again.” 

“ I see,  I understand,  I’ll  attend  to  it.” 

“ When  the  coast  is  clear,  I’m  ready  to 
take  the  deed  and  pay  the  money,’* 


WHAT  CAN  I DO? 


147 


“ It’s  taken  you  some  time  to  make  it  out. 
Mr.  Mins.  There’s  no  occasion  to  be  so 
chicken-hearted.  If  you’ll  come  over  the 
middle  of  the  week,  say  Wednesday,  we’ll 
finish  up  the  business.” 

Mins  went  out  of  the  store  feeling  as  if  he 
had  been  picking  a pocket.” 

“ I shall  be  glad  when  the  job  is  off  my 
hands,”  thought  Mr.  Downing,  for  though  he 
was  determined  to  carry  through  to  the  very 
end,  his  persecution  of  Deacon  Goodwin,  he 
would  gladly  have  escaped  from  facing  his 
victim  again.  If  his  harsh  treatment  had 
been  met  by  violent  opposition  or  vituperation, 
he  would  have  been  at  home  in  the  affair; 
but  to  be  confronted  with  calm,  quiet  dignity 
he  had  not  expected,  and  even  now,  when  the 
twenty-two  hundred  dollars  was  almost  in  his 
grasp,  he  felt  as  if  he  had  been  baffled. 
Truly  Uncle  David’s  strength  was  “ to  sit 
still.” 


L48 


CARL  BARTLETT;  OR, 


But  the  message  must  be  sent  directly  to 
Deacon  Goodwin.  A written  demand  he 
might  not  heed,  and  it  was  necessary  for 
Mr.  Downing  to  know  whether  the  premises 
would  be  vacated  without  a resort  to  more 
vigorous  measures.  He  must  go  himself  or 
send  a trusty  messenger.  Yes,  that  would 
do  ; he  would  send  his  son  ; the  errand  could 
be  explained  to  him  at  dinner  time. 

Mr.  Downing  had  nearly  finished  his  meal 
when  his  son  came  in.  Mr.  Downing  swal- 
lowed his  food  with  astonishing  rapidity, 
passing  large  slabs  of  meat,  bread,  pudding, 
etc.,  into  his  mouth,  much  as  we  have  seen 
two  men  load  bricks,  one  standing  on  the 
ground,  taking  two  bricks  into  his  hands  at  a 
time,  and  with  a slight  toss,  giving  them  to 
the  one  in  the  cart.  Mr.  Downing  never 
wasted  time  over  his  food,  but  took  in  edibles 
in  a prompt,  business-like  manner.  Seth 
came  into  the  dining-room,  slung  his  hat 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


149 


half  way  across  the  room  with  so  dexterous  a 
twist  of  his  wrist,  that  it  landed  on  his 
mother’s  work  table  between  the  windows, 
and  carried  sudden  confusion  into  the  pile 
of  garments  and  materials  which  the  long- 
suffering  mender  had  labored  upon  and  with 
all  the  morning,  when  not  engaged  in  more 
active  duties.  Stockings,  bits  of  cloth,  and 
spools,  tumbled,  fluttered  or  rolled  to  dark 
corners,  unheeded  by  Seth,  who  drew  his 
chair  noisily  back  over  the  floor-cloth,  seized 
a full  tumbler  with  both  hands,  and  poured 
the  contents  down  his  throat,  then  applied 
himself  to  the  disposing  of  “ solids  ” much  in 
the  paternal  style. 

Mr.  Downing  rose  from  the  table,  saying, 
“ I want  you,  Seth,  to  go  over  to  Clifton  this 
afternoon,  and  tell  Deacon  Goodwin  I have 
sold  his  place  and  he  must  leave  by  Wednes- 
day night.  If  he  doesn’t,  I’ll  send  an  officer 
and  put  his  traps  out  into  the  road.” 


150 


CARL  BARTLETT  ; OB, 


A knowing  look  came  over  Seth’s  face; 
he  heard  his  father  to  the  last  word ; the 
great  boy  threw  back  his  head,  opened  his 
large  mouth  and  laughed  aloud. 

“ Now,  you  don’t  think  I am  going  to  do 
your  dirty  work  for  you  ? No,  thank  you,  you 
may  go  yourself.” 

“ I can’t  go.  I am  very  busy  to-day. 
Wales  is  sick,  and  Clark’s  gone  home.  I 
can’t  leave.” 

“ Well,  Murdock  is  sick.  I s’pose  he  is.  I 
ain’t  seen  him  this  morning,  and  Righter  ’ll 
want  to  go  home.  I can’t  leave.” 

“ It’s  hard  if  my  son  won’t  do  an  errand 
for  me.” 

“ I say  I won’t  do  your  dirty  work,”  was 
the  angry  retort. 

This  was  not  the  first  altercation  between 
father  and  son,  and  Mr.  Downing  knew  that 
he  could  not  compel  obedience.  The  next 
day  he  went  himself  to  Deacon  Goodwin,  and 


WHAT  CAN  I DO? 


151 


made  his  statement  in  scarcely  less  plain  lan- 
guage than  he  had  put  it  in  at  his  own  table. 
Uncle  David  made  no  answer.  Mr.  Downing 
repeated,  in  a louder  voice,  what  he  had  said. 
Still  no  answer.  Again  he  raised  his  voioe 
and  reiterated  his  demand. 

“ I heard  you  the  first  time,”  said  Uncle 
David,  in  his  usual  conversational  tone. 

“Well,  I mean  what  I say.” 

Again  Mr.  Downing  was  completely  baffled ; 
he  might  just  as  well  have  sent  his  directions 
by  mail,  for  he  returned  as  wise  as  he  came ; 
he  knew  just  as  much  of  Uncle  David’s  inten- 
tions when  he  entered  the  house  as  when  he 
left  it.  But  Deacon  Goodwin  was  prepared 
for  the  summons ; they  came  in  no  ruder 
form  than  he  expected ; it  now  only  remained 
for  him  to  carry  out  the  resolution  formed  and 
expressed  two  weeks  before. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


GAIN  the  red  flag  fluttered  from  the 
fence  in  front  of  Deacon  Goodwin’s 
house.  Hardly  twenty-four  hours 
had  elapsed  since  he  had  asked  Mr. 
Gray  to  make  the  needed  arrangements  for 
the  sale  of  his  personal  property,  but  a motley 
concourse  had  been  gathered,  called  together 
by  that  mysterious  system  of  telegraphy 
which  exists  in  all  country  towns.  A system, 
which  for  promptness  and  despatch,  rivals 
signal  fires  and  all  old-fashioned  styles  of 
communication,  and  in  its  diffusiveness,  even 
the  electric  messenger  itself. 

From  house,  from  workshop,  and  from  field 

they  came,  men,  women  and  children.  Tho 
162 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


153 


occurrence  was  so  unusual  in  that  community, 
that  it  called  out  the  interest  of  all,  the  com- 
miseration of  most,  and  in  some,  it  brought  to 
light  that  singular  phrase  of  curiosity  which 
finds  its  gratification  in  the  hints  which  a 
household  auction  gives  of  family  life. 

“ I don’t  see  what  on  airth  ’ll  become  on 
the  tongs,”  said  Jotham,  gazing  round. 

“ The  tongs  ? ” asked  Mrs.  Gray,  in  utter 
astonishment. 

“ Yes,  I shouldn’t  think  ther  wus  nobody 
lef  ter  hum  ter  keep  ther  cat  frum  eatin’  on 
’em.” 

“ I’ve  left  mine  safe,  that’s  all  I know.  I 
don’t  trouble  myself  about  my  neighbors.” 

“ Deacon’s  over  ter  yer  ’us.” 

“ Yes,  Mr.  Gray  persuaded  him  to  stay 
with  as  over  Sunday,  till  he  could  get  settled 
up  a little.” 

“ He  hain’t  saved  nothin’,  hes  he  ? ” 

“ Nothing  but  clothing  and  his  father’s  old 


154 


CARL  BARTLETT;  OR, 


Bible.  It’ s got  the  family  record  in  it,  you 
know.” 

“ It’s  kinder  tough  neow,  ain’t  it,  ter  see 
all  the  old  deacon’s  furniture  all  pitched 
reound,  here,  tliar  an’  every  whares,  Tom, 
Dick  an’  Harry  carryin’  on  it  off  ? ” 

“ I hope  they’ll  bid  well ; Mr.  Gray  had 
hard  work  to  get  the  auctioneer  to  come. 
He  said  he’d  rather  he’d  get  somebody  else  ; 
it  went  against  his  feelings.” 

“ ’Twould  go  agin  a’  most  enny  man’s  feel- 
in’s  ’cept  Downing’s.  He  hain’t  got  no  feel- 
in’s.  Ther  auction  chap  is  beginnin’.” 

As  the  assembly  was  too  numerous  to  be 
accommodated  in  the  medium  sized  rooms 
of  the  farm  house,  the  goods  to  be  sold  were 
removed  to  the  yard.  The  auctioneer  pre- 
faced the  sale  with  an  expression  of  kindly 
feeling,  in  which  he  said  he  had  no  doubt  all 
present  shared,  for  the  venerable  couple  who 
had  gone  out  from  their  home  that  day,  and 


WHAT  CAN  I DO? 


155 


appealed  to  each  and  every  one  to  help  him 
make  his  account  of  sales  as  satisfactory  as 
possible. 

One  thing  after  another  was  held  up,  or 
placed  beside  the  block  on  which  the  seller 
stood.  Bidding  was  rapid ; when  it  began 
to  flag,  Jotham’s  voice  was  heard.  “ Ain’t 
goin’  ter  heve  them  things  goin  fur  no  secli 
price  es  that ; ” and  he  would  double  the  last 
offer.  In  one  or  two  instances  he  bid  a sec- 
ond time  before  any  one  else  had  spoken. 

“ Bidding  on  yerself,  Jotham  ? ” said  a 
man  at  his  elbow. 

“ Wall,  yes,  biddin’  on  merself  ef  nobody 
else  won’t  bid  on  me  ; ef  yer  don’t  want  me 
ter  make  er  fool  uv  myself,  bid  up,  that’s  all.” 

A good  degree  of  enthusiasm  was  excited, 
and  each  individual  was  determined  not  to 
leave  without  some  reminder  of  Uncle  David. 
There  was  not  a person  too  poor  to  buy  some 
one  thing  that  Uncle  David  or  Mrs.  Goodwin 


156 


CARL  BARTLETT;  OR, 


had  used.  Even  Goody  Busy  Body  cheerfully 
unwound  the  yards  of  tape  twisted  about  the 
old  stocking-foot,  and  laid  down  five  dollars 
for  the  spinning-wheel  she  had  seen  “ the 
Deacon’s  mother  spinning  her  rolls  on  when 
David  Goodwin  was  a boy.” 

When  the  books,  the  small  library  that  had 
been  their  owner’s  solace  in  many  troublous 
times,  were  put  up,  Mr.  Dalton  bid  the  vol- 
umes off,  one  after  another.  When  the  fur- 
niture of  the  sitting  room  came  under  the 
hammer,  competition  ran  high ; but  the  old 
clock,  the  straight,  high-backed,  flag-seated 
chairs,  the  tall  desk,  the  braided  carpet,  were 
each  and  all  knocked  down  to  Jotham  Hodg 
kins,  at  prices  far  beyond  their  actual  value. 

“ Going  to  set  up  housekeeping,  Jotham  ? ” 
asked  Mr.  Wright. 

“ See  ’beout  it,”  he  answered,  as  he  made 
his  way  up  to  the  table  where  James  Gray 
was  receiving  payment  for  articles  sold. 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


157 


At  six  o’clock  all  of  Deacon  Goodwin’s 
personal  property  had  passed  into  the  pos- 
session of  others.  The  animals  which  he  had 
fed  and  petted,  the  table  from  which  from 
infancy  he  had  thankfully  taken  his  daily 
bread,  all,  all  were  no  longer  his.  The  road 
near  the  house,  the  green  door-yard  in  front, 
presented  a busy  scene.  Wagons  of  every 
description  were  being  loaded  with  the  dif- 
ferent purchases. 

Mr.  Dalton  sought  out  Jotham  Hodgkins 
in  the  crowd.  “ I don’t  wish  to  be  prying, 
Mr.  Hodgkins,”  said  he,  “but  may  I ask 
what  you  purpose  doing  with  the  furniture 
you  have  bought  this  afternoon  ? ” 

“ Well,  I thought  I wouldn’t  tell  nobody, 
but  I don’t  mind  tellin’  on  you.  You  see,  I 
wus  er  thinkin’,  that  if  Uncle  David  and  Miss 
Goodwin  mus  go  ter  ther  poor’us,  mebbe 
’twouldn’t  seem  so  much  like  the  poor’us,  if 
they  hed  some  uv  ther  own  furniture  an’ 
things  reound  ’em.” 


158 


CAUL  BARTLETT. 


“Precisely,  Mr.  Hodgkins.  I was  quite 
sure  I read  your  kind  heart  correctly.  And 
it  occurred  to  me  that  if  you  would  take  the 
books  that  I have  bought  at  the  same  time 
that  you  did  the  furniture,  and  place  them 
in  his  room,  you  would  be  doing  Deacon 
Goodwin  and  myseif  a favor.” 

“ Sartain  I will.  I’ll  go  ' 5gbt  ther 
hay  riggin’  an’  take  ’em  righv  mg.” 


CHAPTER  X. 


T was  while  the  sale  was  going  on  at 
the  Goodwin  homestead,  that  a train 
of  cars  came  rumbling  into  the  Shire- 
town  depot.  The  usual  committee 
of  reception  were  there  to  view  the  up-train, 
and  see  who  had  come  from  Boston,  and  who 
from  “ Belluses  Falls.”  Each  passenger,  as 
lie  stepped  from  the  paltform,  was  scanned  by 
every  member  of  the  committee,  and  all  but 
one  passed,  apparently,  a successful  examin- 
ation ; their  faces  were  familiar,  or  they  had 
so  much  of  the  air  of  people  of  the  region, 
that  no  questions  were  asked.  The  single 
exception  held  in  his  hand  a small  black 
portmanteau,  totally  different  from  the  russet 


160 


CAEL  BARTLETT;  OB, 


valises  or  leather  bags  which  many  of  the 
others  clutched,  and  answered  the  salutation 
of  the  man  in  shirt-sleeves,  who  accosted  him 
with,  “ Take  yer  right  up  ter  the  hotel,  sir,” 
only  by  a shake  of  the  head.  His  eye  rested 
on  a boy,  guiltless  of  shoes,  jacket  or  vest 
who  was  gazing  at  the  newly-arrived  as  well 
as  the  brim  of  his  palm-leaf  hat  would  allow. 
The  urchin  and  the  hat  had  had  the  mis- 
fortune to  be  out  in  a shower  the  day  before, 
and  the  hat-rim,  indignantly  resenting  the 
flood  which  poured  upon  it,  persistently  de- 
termined to  roll  up ; its  owner  was  as  de- 
termined that  it  should  not,  and  turned  it 
down  all  round  and  held  it ; the  result  was,  a 
hat  good  for  shade,  but  baffling  for  scrutiniz- 
ing eyes. 

“ Will  you  show  me  the  way  to  the  court- 
house, my  lad  ? ” said  the  stranger. 

“ I hain’t  yer  lad,”  returned  the  boy,  who, 
having  made  his  declaration  of  independence, 


WHAT  CAN  I DO? 


161 


and  entered  his  protest  against  being  44  held 
to  service,”  ran  before  the  new  coiner.  He 
was  fleet-footed,  and  would  have  soon  been  out 
of  sight,  had  not  the  people  of  Shiretown  been 
afflicted  with  a mania  for  posts,  at  the  edge 
of  side-walks,  before  doors  and  gates  ; in  every 
place  where  there  was  the  least  chance  of 
getting  in  a post  there  was  one.  Now  to 
pass  quietly  by  a post,  or  to  walk  round  it, 
was  not 44  dreamed  of”  in  the  young  guides 
44  philosophy.”  He  placed  both  hands  on 
each  one,  as  it  came  in  or  beside  his  pathway, 
lifted  his  body  with  a spring,  till  it  was  above 
the  acorn,  horse’s  head,  or  other  tasteful 
device  with  which  Shiretown  delighted  to 
ornament  its  pets,  swung  a foot  on  either 
side,  landed  beyond,  and  ran  on,  as  if  there 
had  been  no  obstruction  in  his  road.  The 
stranger  watched  the  oft-repeated  manoeuvre 
with  much  amusement,  thinking  that  with 
some,  of  the  taller,  the  nimble  boy  would  find 


162 


CARL  BARTLETT;  OR, 


his  match,  and  wondering  what  he  would  do 
then ; but  for  any  help  the  boy  gave  him,  he 
may  be  wondering  on  to  this  day,  for  he  took 
them  all,  short  posts,  and  posts  two  feet  taller 
than  himself  in  the  same  style,  and  came 
down  on  his  bare  feet,  apparently  much  re- 
freshed. This  varied  kind  of  locomotion  was 
continued  for  five  minutes ; then  the  boy 
stopped  at  a corner,  pointed  to  a red  brick 
building,  and  said,  “ There  yer  be.”  The 
gentleman  gave  him  twenty-five  cents,  which 
he  took  with  an  indifferent  air,  and  imme- 
diately sought  the  advice  of  admiring  friends 
as  to  the  investment  of  his  newly-acquired 
property.  Corn-balls  and  pea-nuts  was  the 
decision,  and  for  the  remainder  of  the  day  he 
was  a hero,  a bounteous  man  of  means, 
distributing  his  favors  ; but  the  next  morning 
his  riches  had  melted  away,  and  their  former 
owner  settled  to  the  level  of  his  boon  com- 
panions. 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


163 


One  hour  after  the  stranger  entered  the 
court  house,  he  was  moving  at  a rapid  rate 
over  the  road  between  Clifton  and  Shiretown, 
seated  in  an  open  buggy,  with  the  sheriff  of 
the  county  at  his  side.  As  they  came  near 
to  Deacon  Goodwin’s  house,  they  met  the 
town’s  people  coming  from  the  auction,  each 
with  some  portion  of  the  household  goods  in 
his  hand,  or  on  the  vehicle  in  which  he  rode. 

“ Too  bad,  too  bad,”  exclaimed  the  gentle- 
man. “ Can’t  you  drive  a little  faster,  Mr. 
Sheriff?” 

“ My  horse  is  all  a lather  now,”  said  the 
officer,  as  he  touched  the  whip  to  the  flank 
of  the  panting  beast. 

They  dashed  into  the  yard  just  behind  Jo- 
tham  and  his  hay-rigging,  in  which  he  was 
intending  to  convey  his  own  purchases  and 
Mr.  Dalton’s  to  the  poor  farm. 

The  sheriff’s  horse  stopped.  Each  breath, 
as  it  came  and  went,  shook  the  whole  frame 
of  the  noble  animal. 


164 


CARL  BARTLETT;  DR, 


The  sudden  arrival  attracted  the  attention 
of  all,  and  every  one  stopped  whatever  work 
he  had  in  hand.  Few  were  there  who  did 
not  recognize  the  officer,  but  the  gentleman 
who  accompanied  him  was  an  utter  stranger. 
He  stood  up  in  the  buggy,  and,  in  a clear 
voice,  made  the  announcement : 

“ An  injunction  has  been  issued  restrain- 
ing J.  J.  Downing,  for  six  months,  from  sell- 
ing the  real  estate  of  David  Goodwin.”  And 
added,  “ I propose  that  all  those  who  have 
purchased  his  personal  property  shall  allow 
it  to  remain  upon  his  premises  for  that  time. 
I pledge  myself  to  be  responsible  for  all  loss 
or  damage  that  may  accrue.  I refer  you  to 
the  sheriff  at  my  side.” 

“ It’s  all  right,  is  it,  Mr.  Evans  ? ” asked 
Mr.  Gray. 

“ All  right,”  was  the  reply,  and  the  officer 
produced  a document  from  his  side  pocket. 
Jotham  stood  in  his  hay  rigging  in  mute 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


165 


amazement,  his  liat  pushed  back  and  mouth 
and  eyes  wide  open ; but  the  fact  that  Deacon 
Goodwin  was  not  now  in  Mr.  Downing’s 
power  soon  gained  a lodgment  in  his  brain, 
and  he  was  ready  for  action. 

He  shouted,  “ Put  them  ere  things  back 
where  they  ’long,  ev’ry  one  on  ’em;”  and 
seizing  his  reins  from  the  stake  where  he  had 
hung  them,  turned  his  hay-rigging  round,  re- 
gardless of  the  wheels  of  his  neighbors’ 
wagons,  and  of  the  legs  of  the  poor  horses 
which  cringed  and  backed  in  their  attempts 
to  avoid  the  ponderous  vehicle.  Once  out 
of  the  yard,  he  lashed  old  Jack  till  he  had 
forced  him.  into  a half  canter,  half  trot  (it 
must  be  confessed  the  faithful  Jack  was  not 
a graceful  animal),  and  as  he  overtook  one 
after  another  going  home  with ' their  recent 
acquisitions,  called,  “ Take  them  things  back, 
take  them  things  back,  I tell  yer  ; there’s  er 
’junction,  the  Deacon’s  place  hain’t  goin’  ter 
he  solt.” 


166 


CARL  BARTLETT;  OR. 


The  unexcitable  old  farmers  and  the  moth- 
erly dames  had  hardly  wiped  away  the  blind- 
ing dust  which  the  sheriff’s  buggy  had  thrown 
into  their  eyes,  and  wondered  if  Jotham  was 
not  on  the  way  to  an  insane  asylum.  Never- 
theless, Jotham  went  clattering  and  shouting 
an  until  he  thought  he  had  overtaken  those 
who  were  first  to  leave  the  sale.  Other  mes- 
sengers went  in  other  directions,  and  almost 
every  article  was  returned  that  night.  Friend- 
ly hands  replaced  them  as  well  as  they  were 
able,  that  the  much-esteemed  couple  might 
return,  if  they  so  wished,  to  the  shelter  of 
their  own  roof. 

When  Jotham  came  back,  the  stranger  was 
standing  stroking  the  face  of  the  sheriff’s 
horse.  ’Squire  William’s  man  eyed  him  with 
much  curiosity,  and  as  great  a degree  of  awe 
as  he  ever  allowed  himself  to  feel  for  a fellow 
man. 

“ Know  who  he  is  ? ” he  asked  of  James 
Gray. 


WHAT  CAN  I HO? 


16? 


“ No,  I never  saw  liim  before.” 

“ Don’t  Evans  know  ? ” 

“ Yes,  I suppose  so : but  he  was  in  a great 
drive  and  went  right  off.  He  said  he  would 
be  back  in  half  an  hour,  and  left  the  stranger 
to  take  care  of  his  horse.” 

“ Wonder  lieow  under  ther  sun,  an’  mune , 
an’  stars,  he  dun  it,”  said  Jotliam,  seeming 
to  think  the  mention  of  the  heavenly  bodies, 
one  after  another,  made  his  expression  of 
surprise  more  emphatic. 

“ Oh,  lie’s  a lawyer ; they  generally  know 
what  they  are  about.” 

“ Yes,  s’spose  they  dew.  I allers  thought 
that  ef  yer  mortgaged  yer  farm,  an’  yer 
couldn’t  pay,  the  chap’s  that’s  got  the  mort- 
gage would  turn  yer  eout  ef  he  wus  er  mind 
too,  an’  nothin’  could  stop  him.” 

“ So  I thought.” 

“ I’d  like  ter  know  heow  he  dun  it : good 
mind  to  ax  him,”  said  Jotliam,  sidling 


168 


CARL  BARTLETT  ; OB, 


towards  the  gentleman,  who  said,  “ I think 
this  horse,  he  is  a fine  animal,  would  be  more 
comfortable  if  he  had  a good  rubbing  down.” 

“ I’ll  attend  to  that,”  said  James  Gray,  un- 
hitching the  traces  and  leading  the  horse 
towards  Deacon  Goodwin’s  barn. 

“ And  I,”  continued  the  stranger,  “ would 
be  glad  to  get  back  to  Shiretown  this  evening ; 
can  I find  a conveyance  ? Mr.  Evans  is 
obliged  to  go  on  farther.” 

What  an  opportunity  for  Jotham  to  unravel 
a mystery.  “ It’s  er  chap  ’beout  my  size  that’ll 
cake  yer  over  there.  Just  yer  come  over  ter 
iher  ’Squares,  an’  see  ther  Square,  an’  Miss 
Williams  shall  give  yer  some  supper,  an’  I’ll 
do  up  ther  chores  in  no  time.” 

“ Perhaps  you’d  like  to  see  the  deacon,” 
said  Mr.  Gray. 

“ I should,  indeed,”  was  the  reply. 

“ That’ll  do,  Jotham,”  said  Mr.  Gray. 
“As  soon  as  you  are  ready,  come  round  to 


WHAT  CAN  I HO? 


169 


my  house  and  you  will  find  the  gentleman 
there.” 

“ Go  ahead,”  said  the  delighted  Jotham,  as 
lie  mounted  his  light,  easy,  running  vehicle, 
the  hay  rigging,  and  drove  out  of  the  yard. 

“ Now,”  said  Mr.  Gray  to  the  stranger,  “ I 
will  introduce  you  to  Uncle  David  and  his 
wife,  if  you  please.” 

Mrs.  Gray  was  already  at  home,  busy  in 
the  preparation  of  an  unusually  tempting 
meal  in  honor  of  her  visitors,  who  were  in 
the  sitting-room,  each  trying  to  keep  a cheer- 
ful countenance  for  the  sake  of  the  other, 
but  each  felt,  though  they  were  now  respected 
guests  in  a friend’s  house,  the  shadow  of  the 
pauper’s  roof.  The  chill  of  the  pauper’s 
fireside  had  already  penetrated  to  the  core 
of  their  hearts  and  made  the  slow-moving, 
vital  fluid  still  more  tardy  than  ever ; the 
bitter  morsel  from  the  table,  which  must  be 
shared  with  the  disfigured  in  mind,  body  or 


170 


CARL  BARTLETT;  OR, 


soul,  was,  in  thought,  already  within  theil 
lips,  already  forcing  its  way  down  their 
parched  throats. 

Mr.  Gray  was  startled  to  see  the  change 
which  the  rough  hand  of  trouble  had  wrought 
in  the  venerable  couple  since  the  morning  sun 
had  begun  his  race ; a change  which  time, 
with  its  gentle  touch,  might  not  have  brought 
about  in  successions  of  summers  and  winters. 
He  ushered  into  the  room  the  stranger  whose 
arrival  had  caused  such  a revolution  in  affairs 
at  the  Goodwin  farm.  “ Deacon  Goodwin 

and  Mrs.  Goodwin,  Mr. ; the  gentleman 

has  brought  some  news  for  you,  Uncle 
David.” 

At  the  mention  of  news,  Mrs.  Goodwin 
rose  hastily,  came  towards  the  stranger,  laid 
her  hand  on  his  arm,  and  said,  “ Have  you 
seen  Josiah?  Is  he  well?  When  is  he 
coming  home  ? ” 

“ No,  madam.  I wish  I had  brought  you 


what  can  I do? 


171 


word  of  your  son.  I come  for  another  pur- 
pose.” 

The  poor  woman,  deserted  of  him  who 
should  have  been  the  prop  of  her  declining 
years,  sank  into  a chair  and  covered  her  face 
with  her  hands.  The  tears,  which  by  strong 
effort  she  had  kept  back  all  that  day,  now 
refused  to  be  controlled  and  streamed  from 
her  eyes.  Not  a word  was  spoken.  The 
husband  laid  his  hand  on  “ the auld  wife’s” 
shoulder,  and  the  pent-up  grief  having  found 
its  outlet,  by  degrees  she  became  calmer, 
dried  her  eyes,  looked  at  the  stranger  and 
said,  “ I hope  you  will  excuse  me,  sir.  It’s 
all  very  foolish  of  me,  but  maybe  if  you 
could  know  how  a mother  feels  when  she  has 
laid  her  sons  and  her  daughters,  one  after 
another,  in  the  grave,  till  only  one  is  left,  and 
that  one  always  in  her  mind  and  never  in  her 
sight,  always  dying  but  never  carried  to  his 
rest,  not  alive  it  may  be,  but  always  watched 


m 


CARL  BARTLETT  ; OR, 


for.  If  you  only  could  know  what  it  is,  may 
be  you  wouldn’t  think  I was  such  a foolish 
old  woman  after  all.” 

“ I see  nothing  foolish  in  a mother’s  love 
for  an  only  son,”  said  the  tall,  bearded 
stranger,  stooping  reverently  and  kissing  the 
furrowed  forehead. 

“ May  you  and  yours  never  know  a living 
grief,”  said  the  mother,  taking  his  hand. 

Deacon  Goodwin,  wishing  to  turn  his  wife’s 
thoughts  from  their  sorrow,  had  twice  opened 
his  lips  to  speak  ; but  the  words  did  not  come. 
He  stood  some  moments  before  he  could  utter 
a syllable  ; then  said,  “ I did  not  understand 
the  gentleman’s  name,  Mr.  Gray.” 

“ My  name  is  Carleton  Randolph,”  said 
the  gentleman,  who  was  an  old  acquaintance 
of  our  readers. 

“ Mr.  Randolph,”  said  Deacon  Goodwin, 
“ not  our  young  friends’  Uncle  Carl  ? ” 

“ I have  a nephew,  Carl  Bartlett.” 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


173 


“ Then  I know  you  well,”  said  Deacon 
Goodwin,  grasping  his  hand. 

“ And  he  has  told  me  so  much  of  his  Uncle 
David  that  I feel  I know  him  well.  We  are 
old  friends,”  said  Mr.  Randolph. 

“ Mr.  Randolph  has  been  your  friend  to- 
day,” said  Mr.  Gray.  “ He  has  taken  your 
house  out  of  Mr.  Downing’s  hands  for  a 
while ; he  can  tell  you  how,  better  than  I 
can ; ” and  the  farmer  went  out  to  return  to 
the  old  house  and  aid  in  restoring  order 
there. 

“ What  was  that  Mr.  Gray  was  saying  ? ” 
asked  Deacon  Goodwin.  “ I’ve  had  so  much 
on  my  mind  lately,  and  things  come  so  harsh, 
I don’t  think  I hear  or  understand  as  quick 
as  I used  to.” 

“ I’ve  taken  the  liberty  of  interfering  m 
your  affairs,”  said  Mr.  Randolph,  “ and  your 
home  is  yours  for  sis  months  longer.” 

“ Then  we  shan’t  be  turned  out  of  the  old 


house,  after  all  ? ” 


174 


CARL  BARTLETT ; Ofi, 


“ I hope  not.” 

“ Thank  God,”  said  the  white-haired  man, 
“ and  thank  you,  the  good  God’s  instru- 
ment.” 

The  joyous  expression  on  Uncle  David’s 
face  made  it  look  almost  young  again. 

“ The  matter  is  taken  out  of  Downing’s 
hand  for  the  present,”  said  Mr.  Randolph, 
“ and  we  have  time  to  look  into  his  right  to 
pursue  you  as  he  has.  If  I understand  cor- 
rectly, you  do  not  acknowledge  the  debt.” 

“ Why,”  said  Deacon  Goodwin,  “ Mr.  Down- 
ing has  all  the  papers ; he  could  prove  his 
claim  in  a court  of  law,  I suppose.  But  for 
all  that,  the  debt  has  been  paid.  I sent  my 
own  son ; my  Josiah  paid  the  money,  and 
left  the  mortgage  with  Mr.  Murdock.” 

“ What  did  he  do  with  the  note  ? ” 

“ That’s  what  we  don’t  know.  He  ought 
to  have  destroyed  it,  or  brought  ii  to  me; 
but  he  didn’t,  and  Mr.  Downing  has  got  it 

99 


now. 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


175 


“ You  are  sure  it  is  the  same  one  ? ” 

“ Oh,  yes,  I’ve  seen  it.  I couldn’t  mistake 
it.  The  fact  was,  I borrowed  the  money  to 
let  my  son  have  it ; not  Josiah,  Samuel ; he 
was  older  than  Josiah.  He  had  an  offer  to  go 
into  a store  as  clerk,  and  if  he  could  put  in 
two  thousand  dollars,  the  man  agreed  to  take 
him  into  the  business  in  a year.  Samuel 
didn’t  ask  me  to  do  it,  but  I knew  he  was  a 
steady,  industrious  boy,  and  I was  sure  he’d 
do  the  best  he  could  with  the  money,  and  I 
thought  he’d  make  a good  business  man. 
He  never  liked  farming;  he  always  used  to 
be  trading  when  he  was  quite  small.  Well,  J 
told  him  if  he  would  agree  to  pay  the  interest, 
and  could  find  some  one  to  take  the  mort- 
gage, I was  willing  to  let  him  have  it.  I 
thought  he  would  be  able  to  take  it  up  in  a 
year  or  two,  and  he  thought  so  too.  He  said 
he  wouldn’t  have  me  do  it  on  any  account,  if 
he  was  not^  pretty  sure  he  could.  The  nest 


176 


CARL  BARTLETT;  OR, 


day  lie  came  home  and  said  Mr.  Downing 
would  let  him  have  the  money.  I’d  rather 
have  taken  it  of  almost  any  one  else,  hut  I 
didn’t  know  as  I had  any  good  reason  for 
feeling  so,  and  I didn’t  object.  Well,  Samuel 
got  along  tolerably  well  for  the  first  six 
months.  He  worked  pretty  hard,  to  be  sure ; 
but  he  liked  the  place,  and  the  people  in  the 
store  liked  him,  I believe.  After  that,  things 
seemed  to  go  wrong.  There  were  two  or 
three  bad  debts,  and  some  of  their  stock  that 
they  thought  was  going  to  rise,  fell  on  their 
hands.  One  thing  after  another  was  against 
my  son.  At  last,  a man  that  lived  close  by 
where  he  boarded,  came  over  and  told  us  he 
was  sick.  Wife  and  I went  and  brought  him 
home.  He  had  a run  of  fever;  the  fever 
turned,  but  he  never  seemed  to  get  up  from  it. 
He  worried  about  the  mortgage,  and  what  we 
should  do  if  he  shouldn’t  live  to  pay  it,  and 
was  so  sorry  he  ever  let  me  do  it.  I used  to 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


177 


think  if  he  could  only  get  rid  of  thinking  of 
that  all  the  time,  if  he  could  only  forget  it,  if 
it  was  only  for  one  hour  a day,  he  might  get 
well.  I suppose  two  thousand  dollars  does 
not  sound  like  much  to  you ; but  it  was  a 
good  deal  to  us.  We  farmers,  most  of  us, 
make  money  slowly.  My  boy  died,  and  I 
never  got  any  thing  for  the  two  thousand 
dollars  I put  into  the  business.  I kept  on 
paying  the  interest  regularly ; but  Mr.  Down- 
ing wanted  me  to  pay  the  whole.  He  was  so 
hard  on  me  two  or  three  times,  that  at  last  I 
managed,  ’Squire  Williams  helped  me  to  the 
money,  to  pay  the  whole,  and  never  expected 
to  hear  from  Mr.  Downing  again.  I ought  to 
have  been  more  careful.  I ought  to  have 
gone  over  to  Mr.  Murdock’s  and  got  the 
papers  after  he  had  had  time  to  see  to  it ; but 
I’ve  always  known  Mr.  Murdock,  and  his 
father  before  him ; and  I always  thought  any 
thing  was  as  safe  at  his  office,  as  it  was  in  my 


178 


CARL  BARTLETT  ; OR. 


bauds.  I ought  to  have  seen  that  the  note 
was  taken  care  of ; but  I didn’t ; and  now 
Mr.  Downing  has  got  it.  It’s  the  right  one,  I 
know,  for  Samuel  wrote  it.  I know  his  hand 
writing,  and  there  was  a small  blot  on  it  that 
I made  when  I signed  it.  Yes,  it’s  the  same 
note.” 

“ The  discharge  is  not  on  your  record,  is 
it?” 

“ No,  Mr.  Downing  wanted  the  mortgage 
recorded  at  the  county  town,  and  I thought 
it  would  be  just  as  well  to  have  him  acknowl- 
edge the  discharge  there ; it  would  save  him 
and  Mr.  Murdock  trouble  and  some  time. 
When  I was  over  to  Shiretown  I meant  to  get 
the  papers  of  Mr.  Murdock,  and  I could  have 
it  put  on  record  here  any  time,  you  know.  I 
sent  a line  by  my  son,  when  he  paid  the 
money,  to  Mr.  Downing,  asking  him  to  go  to 
the  lawyer’s  office  as  soon  as  he  could,  and 
Josiah  was  to  have  Downing  make  the  paper 


WHAT  CAN  I DO? 


179 


right,  and  then  carry  it  to  Mr.  Murdock’s 
office  and  speak  to  him  about  it.” 

“ He  did  as  you  directed.” 

“ Yes,  sir.” 

“ It  is  the  mortgagee  who  holds  the  papers. 
You  saw  them,  you  say,  the  note  and  the 
mortgage  ? ” 

“ I saw  the  note.  I didn’t  see  the  mort- 
gage ; that  is  on  record  though.  I suppose 
the  records  will  stand.” 

“ Will  you  give  me  the  exact  date  of  this 
payment  ? ” 

“ Wife  can  tell  you  that.  She  remembers 
better  than  I do.” 

Yes,  the  mother  did  remember.  The  day, 
the  hour,  the  moment  when  she  last  saw  ker 
son,  and  all  the  events  which  transpired  at 
that  time  were  so  linked  with  his  departure, 
that  each  was  perfectly  clear  in  her  memory. 
The  year,  the  month,  the  day  was  given,  and 
noted  in  Mr.  Randolph’s  memorandum  book 


180 


CARL  BARTLETT  ; OR, 


As  he  listened,  his  admiration  for  the  ven- 
erable  father,  the  sorrow-stricken  mother,  in- 
creased more  and  more.  Not  one  word  of 
reproach  for  the  wayward  son,  though  he  had 
brought  disgrace  and  suffering  daily  on  them 
while  at  home,  and  in  his  flight  and  unex- 
plained absence,  had  plunged  them  into  their 
present  difficulties.  No  suspicions  harbored 
in  their  minds  of  his  integrity.  The  lawyer 
could  not  push  his  inquiries  as  he  had  in- 
tended. What  though  their  son  had  rejected 
the  bread  which  his  father’s  house  had  pro- 
vided, and  gone  out  to  feed  on  the  husks 
that  the  swine  did  eat,”  they  were  anxiously 
waiting  to  go  and  meet  him  and  fall  on  his 
neck  and  kiss  him.  He  was  their  absent  boy 
to  be  guarded  from  false  accusations.  No,  it 
was  from  other  sources  that  their  friend  must 
gain  the  evidence  of  Josiah’s  guilt  or  inno- 
cence. 

Mrs.  Gray’s  summons  to  the  tea-table  soon 


WHAT  CAN  I DO? 


181 


came.  With  an  apology  for  the  absence  of 
“ Mr.  Gray  and  the  boys,”  she  requested  her 
guests  to  be  seated.  It  was  not  till  they  were 
rising  from  the  table  that  the  master  of  the 
house  entered,  and  spoke  in  an  under  tone  to 
Mr.  Randolph,  who  answered,  in  an  audible 
voice,  “ Ah  ! that  is  good.  Many  hands  make 
light  work.  I feared  you  would  not  do  it.” 
Then  turning  to  Deacon  Goodwin,  he  said, 
“ Your  friends  and  neighbors  have  replaced 
your  goods  in  the  house,  and  will  esteem  it 
a favor  if  you  will  use  them  as  if  they  had 
never  been  disturbed.” 

“ Oh,  can  we  go  home  to-night  ? ” said 
Mrs.  Goodwin,  looking  imploringly  in  the 
face  of  her  husband. 

“ I see  nothing  to  prevent,  if  you  wish  it,” 
said  Mr.  Randolph. 

“ Hadn’t  you  better  stay  here  to-night  ? ” 
interposed  Mrs.  Gray. 

“ If  we  awake  in  the  morning  in  our  c®rn 


182 


CARL  BARTLETT;  OR, 


home,  it  will  seem  as  if  we  had  never  left 
it,  David,”  pleaded  Mrs.  Goodwin. 

“ I was  afraid  the  men  folks  had  not  made 
it  look  very  comfortable,”  said  Mrs.  Gray ; 
“ and  I thought  I could  go  over  with  you 
in  the  morning  and  help  you  straighten  things 
out.” 

Mr.  Gray  laughed.  “ My  wife  hasn’t  much 
opinion  of  us  men,  if  there  is  anything  to  be 
done  in  doors,”  said  he.  “ We  had  Mrs. 
Wright  and  two  or  three  others  to  help  us, 
mother.” 

“ We  are  much  obliged  to  you,  Mrs.  Gray,” 
said  Deacon  Goodwin ; “ but  I believe  wife 
is  right,  we  old  folks  are  better  off  in  our 
own  home.  Our  own  home ! Two  hours 
ago  we  could  not  say  that  we  had  a home 
that  we  could  call  our  own.  We  are  indebted 
to  you,  Mr.  Randolph,  that  we  can  a little 
longer  say,  our  own  home.”  The  words  “ our 
own  home  ” came  again  and  again  to  his  lips, 


WHAT  CAN  I DO? 


183 


as  if  he  would  exhaust  all  their  sweetness  in 
the  repetition. 

“ Oh,  no,  my  dear  sir,  if  there  is  any  in- 
debtedness it  is  not  in  my  favor.  It  was  my 
nephew’s  enthusiastic  account  of  his  Uncle 
David  and  Aunt  Goodwin,  that  made  me  wish 
to  render  them  some  return  for  the  pleasure 
they  had  given  him.” 

“ Won’t  you  come  with  us  to  our  home,” 
said  Deacon  Goodwin,  “ and  then  you  can  tell 
him  that  you  saw  us  there.” 

Mrs.  Goodwin  was  already  putting  on  bon- 
net and  shawl,  in  trembling  haste,  like  that 
of  a child  who  fears  second  thoughts  may 
deprive  her  of  a promised  pleasure.  With  a 
silent  pressure  of  the  hand,  the  venerable 
woman  took  leave  of  her  kind  hostess.  With 
a hearty  “ God  bless  you,”  the  husband  passed 
out.  Mr.'Gray  went  with  them,  lest  he  might 
have  overlooked  somewhat  that  would  con- 
tribute to  their  comfort.  Mr.  Randolph,  that 


184 


CARL  BARTLETT  ; OR, 


he  might  see  them  reinstated  in  their  own 
home. 

As  they  crossed  the  threshold,  the  white- 
haired  man  raised  his  hat  from  his  head ; 
the  two  younger  men  almost  unconsciously 
followed  his  example,  and  stood  with  bowed 
heads,  while  he  repeated  the  words,  “ Trust  in 
the  Lord  and  do  good  ; so  shalt  thou  dwell  in 
the  land,  and  verily  thou  shalt  be  fed.  De- 
light thyself  also  in  the  Lord,  and  he  shall 
give  thee  the  desire  of  thine  heart.  Commit 
thy  way  unto  the  Lord,  trust  also  in  him,  and 
he  shall  bring  it  to  pass.  And  he  shall  bring 
forth  thy  righteousness  as  the  light,  and  thy 
judgment  as  the  noon-day.  Rest  in  the  Lord, 
and  wait  patiently  for  him ; fret  not  thyself 
because  of  him  who  prospereth  in  his  way, 
because  of  the  man  who  bringeth  wicked 
devices  to  pass.” 

Mrs.  Goodwin  went  from  room  to  room, 
opening  one  door  after  another,  with  the  air 


WIIAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


185 


and  satisfaction  of  one  examining  a new  hab- 
itation ; but  her  husband  was  quite  content  to 
find  himself  once  more  seated  in  his  high- 
backed  rocking-chair,  and  exclaimed,  “ Can  it 
be  only  a few  hours  since  we  went  out 
from  here?  it  seems  .more  like  weeks,  like 
months.” 

It  was  not  till  Mr.  Randolph  saw  him  in 
the  sitting-room,  where  we  have  been  so  often 
with  our  readers,  that  he  fully  realized  the 
unfeeling  recklessness  of  the  man  who  would 
break  up  such  a home  with  rude  haste,  would 
drive  such  a man  from  his  inherited  hearth- 
stone, with  no  more  consideration  than  he 
would  cattle  from  an  enclosure.  These 
thoughts  were  in  his  mind,  when  he  looked 
up,  and  saw  Jotham  at  the  gate  waiting  for 
him. 


CHAPTER  XI. 


OTHAM’S  “ chores  ” were  done  that 
evening  with  a speed  worthy  the  pro- 
gressive nineteenth  century.  The 
sleepy,  well-fed  animals  belonging  to 
’Squire  Williams,  accustomed  to  his  deliber- 
ate manner  of  moving  about  among  them, 
were  bewildered  and  far  from  pleased  with 
the  off-hand  mode  he  had  adopted,  and  con- 
sidered their  dignity  outraged  by  his  un- 
ceremonious, “ Get  up  ther.”  “ What  yer 
’beout  ? ” “ Stan’  reoun’,  I say,”  and  were 
less  tractable  than  usual.  However,  the 
“chores”  were  done,  and  there  was  Jotham 
at  Deacon  Goodwin’s  gate,  talking  with 
James  Gray,  who  had  waited  to  intercept  him 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  V 


187 


as  he  drove  by.  No  wonder  Mr.  Randolph 
smiled  when  he  saw  his  charioteer  in  the  open 
wagon.  His  body  was  bent  forward,  so  as  to 
bring  his  face  within  less  than  a foot  of  his 
knees,  the  left  hand,  in  which  he  held  the 
reins,  rested  on  his  left  knee ; his  right  knee 
supported  his  right  elbow,  and  his  right  hand 
his  chin;  a comfortable  position,  at  least 
Jotliam  thought  so,  but  one  that  rather  inter- 
fered with  the  use  of  the  vocal  organs ; still 
Jotham  would  not  be  Jotham  if  he  didn’t 
talk,  but  as  every  syllable  required  an  up- 
ward motion  of  the  jaw,  the  effect  was  very 
ludicrous. 

When  Mr.  Randolph  appeared  at  the  door, 
Jotham  was  erect  in  an  instant,  threw  up  his 
head  as  if  looking  for  something  in  the  blue 
above,  until  his  chin  and  his  neck  were  nearly 
in  a straight  line,  then  brought  it  down  again 
with  movement  much  like  the  shutting  of  a 
pocket-knife ; not  one  a boy  has  opened  and 


188 


CARL  BARTLETT;  OR, 


shut  till  the  corners  are  well  rounded,  but 
one  that  has  a good  spring  and  shuts  with 
a sharp  click.  Having  executed  this  ma- 
noeuvre, which  was  to  him  in  lieu  of  a bow, 
he  made  room  for  Mr.  Randolph.  As  soon 
as  they  were  fairly  seated,  the  driver  turned, 
looked  directly  in  his  passenger’s  face,  and 
asked,  “ What  may  I call  yer  name,  sir  ? ” 

“ My  name  is  Randolph.” 

“ Not  neffu  nor  nothin’  ter  old  John  ? ” 

“ Old  John  ? ” 

“ Yas.  Old  John  Randolph  uv  Ronoke, 
yer  kneow.  Good  natur’d  feller  he  wus,  yer 
kneow.” 

“ No,  no  relation  of  his,  that  I know  of.” 

“ Wall,  neow,  heow’d  yer  dew  it  ? ” speak- 
ing in  the  same  tone  that  he  used  when  he 
wished  to  coax  Rover  towards  him. 

“ Do  what  ? ” 

“ Why,  put  Downin’s  pipe  eout.” 

“ Stop  the  sale,  you  mean  ? ” 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


189 


“ Yas,  that’s  what  I mean.  Heow  on  airth 
d yer  dew  it  ? ” 

“ I got  an  injunction.” 

“Wall,  heow’d  yer  dew  it?  Where’d  yer 
git  it  ? What  on  airth  is  er  ’junction  ? 
There’s  er  place  deown  berlow  here  where 
er  feller  comes  inter  the  cars  an’  hollers, 
‘ Passengers  for  Soretogy,  an’  sutliin’  or  ruther, 
take  ’tuther  cars ; ’ an’  there’s  lots  er  tracks 
cornin’  tergether  all  criss  cross.  That’s  what 
I thought  yer  called  ’junction.” 

“ Yes,  that  is  a junction,  but  this  is  an  in- 
junction. You  have  got  some  pretty  steep 
hills  round  here.” 

“ Thinks  he’s  goin’  to  put  me  off  ther 
scent,”  was  Jotham’s  mental  comment  as  he 
gave  his  companion  a sideways  look ; but  he 
was  too  keen  to  be  turned  from  his  purpose 
in  that  way,  and  answered,  “ Ya-as.” 

“ Muddy  at  the  foot  of  these  hills  in  the 
spring,  is  it  not?” 


190 


CARL  BARTLETT ; OR, 


“ Y-a-a-s.” 

“ Do  teams  ever  get  stuck  in  the  mud  ? *’ 

“ Y-a-a-s ; ” and  after  an  instant  pause, 
“ There’s  a mighty  bad  place  dost  ter  where 
Downin’  used  ter  keep  his  store.”  Jotham 
was  on  “ the  scent.”  Prom  “ Downin’s  store 
to  Downin’s  ” business  transactions,  the  way 
was  easy. 

“ Suppose  you  should  get  your  team  set 
at  the  foot  of  one  of  these  hills,  and  another 
man  was  backing  on  to  you,  what  would 
you  do  ? ” 

“ I’d  holler  eout  to  him,  Whoa-a,”  said 
Jotham,  in  a loud  voice. 

The  horse  stopped  short  in  the  middle  of 
the  road.  Jotham,  entirely  unprepared,  illus- 
trated the  inertia  of  matter,  and  fell  forward, 
grasping  the  dasher.  He  recovered  himself, 
much  to  the  amusement  of  Mr.  Randolph, 
whose  hand  on  the  back  of  the  seat  saved 
him  from  a like  accident. 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


191 


“ Go  alcng.  What  yer  doin’  on,”  said 
Jotliam,  as  soon  as  he  had  gained  his  balance. 
“Nobody  ain’t  talking  ter  yer,  ger  ’long,” 
and  he  gave  the  misguided  animal  a sharp 
cut  with  his  whip. 

“ Suppose  he  wouldn’t  * who-a,’  ” said  Mr. 
Randolph,  careful  to  speak  in  a low  tone. 

“Then  I’d  see  if  I couldn’t  chock  his 
wheels  fur  him.” 

“ Precisely.  We  have  just  put  some  blocks 
under  Mr.  Downing’s  wheels.” 

“Wall,  now,  that’s  good,  but  they  won’t 
halt,  will  they  ? ” 

“They  will  hold  in  this  case  for  six 
months.” 

“ Couldn’t  yer  keep  clappin’  on  ’em  un- 
der ?■” 

“ The  blocks  ? Yes,  we  could,  if  the 
judges  would  give  them  to  us.” 

“ Oh,  yer  have  ter  git  ’em  uv  the  judges. 
S’pose  they  keep  er  lot  on  ’em  ready  made,’ 


192 


CAEL  BARTLETT  ; OB, 


said  Jotham,  whose  ideas  of  the  nature  of  an 
injunction  were  more  than  ever  confused, 
being  now  made  up  of  railway  tracks,  wooden 
blocks,  and  judges  presiding  in  court. 

“ No,  they  don’t  keep  them  on  hand  ex- 
actly,” said  Mr.  Randolph,  laughing.  “ The 
fact  is,  the  law  is  rather  hard  sometimes; 
subjects  a man  to  hardship,  I mean.” 

“ Guess  it  does  sometimes,  when  it  shuts  er 
feller  up  an’  he  don’t  want  ter  be,  an’  most 
alius  he  don’t.” 

“ That  is  not  exactly  what  I mean.  Gen- 
erally when  a man  is  shut  up  it  is  ‘ for  his 
country’s  good.’  But  I am  not  speaking  of 
criminal  cases  now.  I am  talking  of  cases 
where  property  of  one  kind  or  another  is  at 
stake.  In  such  cases,  often  a man  will  have 
law  on  his  side  and  he  won’t  have  justice ; 
isn’t  it  plain  that  he  may  use  the  law  to  do 
his  creditor  or  whatever  his  opponent  may  be, 
a great  injustice.” 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


193 


“Yes,  Is’pose  so,”  said  Jotham,  to  whom 
all  this  sounded  like  an  irreverent  invasion 
of  the  majesty  of  the  law. 

“Very  well.  It  is  plain,  too,  that  we  can’t 
have  a law  to  meet  every  man’s  case,  but  we 
can  have  judges  to  whom  any  man  can  go  by 
his  counsel  if  he  pleases,  and  tell  his  story, 
and  ask  for  power  to  prevent  his  adversary 
doing  him  wrong ; ask  the  right  to  say,  give 
me  time  to  protect  myself  before  this  or  that 
injury  is  done  me,  or  my  property  is  taken. 
Now  that  is  just  what  I did  in  this  case. 
Here  is  Downing.  As  far  as  I have  been  able 
to  ascertain,  he  has  law  on  his  side.  Deacon 
Goodwin  has  not  the  first  item  of  testimony 
in  his  favor.  Downing  undertakes  to  enter 
into  possession  of  the  property  without  giving 
the  mortgagor  any  reasonable  notice ; there 
is  where  he  made  a mistake ; that  makes  me 
think  that  if  he  has  the  law  on  his  side  he 
has  not  justice.  That  is  what  made  me  go 


194 


CARL  BARTLETT;  OR, 


into  the  court  room  and  ask  for  an  injunction. 
Probably  I could  not  have  got  it,  if  the  judge 
had  not  been  a college  class  mate,  and  if  I 
had  not  found  there  the  lawyer  I studied 
with,  one  of  the  kindest-hearted  men  that 
ever  breathed.  We  got  a chance  to  represent 
our  case.  That  there  was  an  old  man  turned 
out  of  doors  by  the  power  of  the  law.  We 
represented  that  we  wanted  time  to  examine 
the  evidence  ; that  at  least  the  old  man  ought 
to  have  a chance  to  try  and  meet  the  claim. 
The  judge  wanted  to  put  it  off  and  consider 
the  question,  but  Mr.  Winnot,  that  is  my  old 
friend,  held  up  the  case  in  such  a light  that 
the  judge  could  not  say,  no.  Of  all  the  men 
to  make  an  off-hand  appeal,  when  his  feelings 
are  interested,  and  he  thinks  lie  has  right  on 
his  side,  there  is  none  I know  of  like  Winnot. 
The  old  man  bereaved  of  his  children,  the 
old  wife,  ‘ wrinkled,  haggard  and  gray  ’ to  all 
but"  the  husband ; to  him  ‘ young,  blooming 


WHAT  CAN  I DO? 


195 


and  fair  ’ as  on  her  wedding  day.  The  old 
man  erect  and  vigorous,  dwelling  under  the 
roof  that  echoed  to  his  first  infant  cry.  The 
bowed  old  man  tottering  forth  with  the  weep- 
ing wife,  driven  out  by  the  scourge  of  the 
law,  wielded  by  a merciless  hand,  seeking 
shelter  from  charity.  6 All  we  ask,’  said  he, 
6 is,  that  your  honor,  as  the  representative  of 
the  State  that  cares  for  the  welfare  of  the 
citizens,  will  protect  this  defenceless,  blame- 
less old  man,  who  has  stood  in  his  lot  and 
acted  well  his  part  in  his  day  and  generation, 
that  you  will  accord  him  time  to  defend  him- 
self from  malicious  persecution.  In  short, 
that  you  will  grant  us  an  injunction  staying 
proceedings,  that  you  will  grant  it  without 
delay.  Even  now  we  are  wasting  precious 
time  in  mere  words.  Even  now  his  household 
gods  are  under  the  auctioneer’s  hammer,  being 
scattered  — ’ ” 

“I  didn’t  see  no  gods,”  interrupted  JothaiUj 


196 


CARL  BARTLETT;  OR. 


who  had  been  completely  absorbed  in  the 
narration.  “ Deacon  didn’t  hev  no  gods. 
Somebody  or  nuther,  er  missionary,  I believe 
’twas,  sent  him  one  onct  with  er  master  lot 
uv  arms  an’  legs  an’  heads,  but  he  lent  it  to 
the  Sunday  school,  an’  ’t  got  all  smashed  up. 
Deacon  didn’t  hev  no  gods.  What’s  the  law- 
yer chap  want  ter  talk  that  way  fur?  It’s 
slanderin’  on  him.” 

“ He  didn’t  mean  gods  actually ; it  was  a 
figure  of  speech.  He  meant  that  his  house- 
hold goods  were  being  scattered.” 

“ Oh  — h goods.  I thought  yer  said  gods.” 

“ I did  say  so.  Mr.  Winnot  said  so,  but  he 
meant  goods.” 

“Wall,  why  on  airth  couldn’t  he  say  so? 
Figger  uv  speech  ? Putty  figger  he’d  make 
uv  er  good,  pious,  Christian  deacon  hevein’ 
gods  in  his  house.  I don’t  think  much  uv 
that  lawyer  chap.” 

“ I have  good  reason  to  think  well  of  him. 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


197 


I shouldn’t  have  got  my  injunction  without 
him.” 

“ Oh,  yer’d  er  managed  ter  git  it  yerself, 
an*  wouldn’t  hed  ter  bring  in  no  heathen  gods 
ter  help  yer,  I guess.” 

“ At  any  rate,  when  the  judge  understood 
how  Downing  had  been  trying  to  drive  mat- 
ters up,  he  gave  us  our  injunction.  There 
again  you  see  that  Downing  made  a mistake 
in  being  in  such  a hurry  to  grasp  the 
property.” 

“ Couldn’t  you  haul  his  linch-pins  eout, 
an’  pull  off  his  wheels  ’tirely  ? ” 

“ I am  going  to  see  if  I cannot,”  re- 
plied Mr.  Randolph,  whose  every  faculty  was 
aroused,  so  interested  was  he  in  Deacon 
Goodwin’s  cause. 

“ Guess  yer  ken.” 

Jotham  had  unbounded  confidence  in  his 
new-found  friend’s  ability  to  manipulate  the 
Downing  rolling  stock  according  to  his  own 


198 


CARL  BARTLETT;  OR, 


pleasure ; still,  a little  advice  might  not  come 
amiss.  After  thinking  a moment,  he  re- 
sumed his  part  in  the  conversation,  speaking 
in  a low,  confidential  voice  : “ Wall,  neow,  ef 
yer  wus  ter  tell  tlier  judge  ’beaut  ther  deacon, 
that  lie’s  er  rail  good,  clever,  pious  man,  an’ 
hain’t  got  no  children  ter  help  him  ’long,  an’ 
that  ther  old  lady’s  a rail  nice,  hard  workin’ 
woman,  that’s  allers  dun  her  slieere,  an’ 
that  they  won’t  nuther  uv  ’em  be  livin’  long 
in  this  world  no  lieow,  an’  ’twas  er  pity  ter 
be  turnin’  on  ’em  eout,  seeiu’  ’twouldn’t  be 
long  they’d  want  ther  old  house  ; — an’  ef  yer 
wus  ter  tell  that  Downin’s  er  misuble,  good 
fur  nothin’  feller,  allers  talkin’  mighty  fair 
an’  nice,  an’  allers  tryin’  ter  git  ther  better 
uv  somebody,  neow  don’t  ye  think  he’d  let  yer 
do  it  ? ” 

“ Do  what  ? ” 

“ Why  haul  Downin’s’  linch-pins  eout ; or 
ef  he  wouldn’t  dew  that,  mebbe  he’d  give  yer 


What  can  I do  ? 


199 


some  uv  them  ere  blocks  as  ud  holt  long  es 
ther  deacon  wanted  ter  live  in  ther  house.” 

“ Perhaps  he  would ; but  I rather  try  some 
other  way  first.” 

“ Wall,  I guess  yer  knew  what  yer  ’beout, 
Mr.  Randolph.” 

“ You  are  a firm  friend  of  Deacon  Good- 
win ? ” 

“ He  hain’t  got  no  better.” 

“ Can  you  keep  a secret  ? ” 

“ Keep  er  secret  ? Guess  I ken  take  it  in. 
Tie  it  up.  Take  good  care  on  it.  Not  let  it 
eout  till  yer  tell  me  to,  or  yer  come  arter  it 
yerself.” 

“ When  my  nephew  first  told  me  of  this 
case ” 

“How  come  yer  neffer  ter  know  abeout 
it?” 

“ He  was  up  here  at  Mr.  Gray’s  the  last 
Bummer ; you  must  have  seen  him.” 

“ Oh  yas,  yas.  He’s  ther  youngster  as 


200  CARL  BARTLETT;  OR, 

liked  blackberries,  an’  wus  ser  mad  ’cause  1 
sed  tlier  wus  master  mean  folks  deown  ter 
Boston.  Ther  deacon  took  a master  likin’ 
ter  him.” 

“ He  has  a high  opinion  of  Deacon  Good- 
win. When  he  told  me  of  the  case,  I thought 
it  was  a perfectly  plain  one ; that  the  young 

man,  Deacon  Goodwin’s  son ” 

“ Yas,  I know,  ’Siah.” 

“ I thought  Josiah  had  disposed  of  the 
money  among  his  low  associates.” 

Jotham  shook  his  head. 

“But  some  of  my  friends,  and  I agreed 
with  them,  thought  it  a pity  that  the  father 
and  mother  should  suffer  in  their  old  age,  for 

the  rascality  of  a worthless  boy ” 

“ Ruther  hard  on  ’Siali,”  said  Jotham. 

“ And  I came  up  here,”  continued  Mr. 
Randolph,  not  noticing  the  interruption, 
“ with  the  intention  of  buying  up  this  Down- 
ing’s claim.  I found  several  men  on  board 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


201 


the  train  who  knew  Deacon  Goodwin,  and 
knew  Downing,  too.  I learned  from  them 
something  of  the  way  this  affair  had  been 
managed.  The  more  I heard,  the  more  I 
thought  it  possible  that  Josiah  Goodwin  had 
actually  executed  his  commission,  and  that 
Downing  was  taking  advantage  of  the  son’s 
absence  to  pursue  the  father,  and  extort 
money  from  him.  His  actions  were  cold- 
blooded cruelty,  if  he  had  a right  to  bring 
such  suffering  on  the  father  and  mother. 
They  are  downright  villainy  if  he  is  falsely 
accusing  the  son.” 

“ That’s  it,”  said  Jotham.  “ I dunno  es  I 
want  Downing  ter  lose  nothin’  by  ther  deacon. 
I dunno  es  I should  feel  dreffle  bad  nutlier,  ef 
he  did,  arter  collarin’  on  him  so.” 

“ What  I want  to  know  is,  did  Josiah  pay 
the  note  ? ” 

“ Yas,  that’s  what  yer  want  ter  know 
Wish  I knowed ; I tell  yer  ef  I did.” 


‘202 


CARL  BARTLETT;  OB, 


“ Perhaps  you  can  help  me.” 

“ Help  enny  way  I knowed  heow.  Allers 
ready  ter  help.” 

“ Ready  to  help  Downing  ? ” asked  Mr. 
Randolph,  smiling. 

“ No,  I ain't  ready  ter  help  Downin’.  He’s 
on  ther  ’tuther  side.  Find  eout  which  is  tlior 
right  side,  an’  then  git  holt  an’  pull  all  yer 
know.  That’s  what  I say.” 

“ You  are  a shrewd  man,  I see,”  Jotliam 
nodded,  “ and  you  are  a fast  friend  of  Deacon 
Goodwin’s.” 

“ Hain’t  got  no  faster ; that’s  what  I told 
you.” 

“You  was  in  Clifton  when  Josiah  left. 
You  knew  him  probably.” 

“ Knowed  him  well.” 

“ There  might  be  some  circumstances  con- 
nected with  his  going  away  that  you  could 
tell  me  that  might  throw  some  light  on  the 
affair.  I should  never  use  any  information  I 
might  get  in  this  way  against  him.” 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


203 


“ X ain’t  afeard  on  it.” 

“Or  you  may  have  a theory  of  your  own 
about  his  reason  for  leaving.  What  do  you 
think  about  it  ? Was  it  on  account  of  this 
note  being  unpaid  that  he  went  from  home  so 
suddenly  and  secretly  ? ” 

“ Now  jest  look  er  here ! ’Tain’t  in  reason 
that  er  chap  should  sarve  his  own  pa  an’  ma 
such  er  mean  trick  as  that,  is  it  ? ” 

“ I can’t  say.  If  I had  known  the  young 
man  I could  judge  better.  I have  seen  some 
young  people  who  were  determined  to  have 
their  own  way  and  enjoy  their  own  pleasure, 
whoever  suffered  in  consequence.” 

“Yas,  so’ve  I.  There  ain’t  no  selfisher 
critter  on  this  airth,  than  er  youngster  that’s 
’tarmined  ter  hev  his  own  way,  boy  or  gal, 
I don’t  kere  which.  But  then  yer  see,  ’Siah 
want  one  er  that  sort.  There  wa’n’t  er  better 
natured  feller  no  wheres  than  ’Siah  Goodwin. 
Ef  he’d  onny  let  drink  alone,  an’  let  that  set 


204 


CARL  BARTLETT;  OR 


he  got  inter  ’lone,  he’d  er  been  er  tip-top 
chap.  Ses  I ter  him  one  day,  ses  I,  ‘ ’Siah 
Goodwin,  what  yer  want  to  be  goin’  reound 
with  them  fellers  fur?  yer  know  yer  don’t 
like  ’em.  What  yer  want  tu  be  muddlin’ 
yerself  with  drink  fur  ? Yer  know  ’twill  be 
ther  ruin  on  yer.  ’Siah  Goodwin,’  ses  I,  ‘ yer 
er  fool.’  ‘ I know  it,’  ses  he.  ‘ No  yer  don’t, 
nuther,’  ses  I ; £ yer  don’t  know  no  such  er 
thing  ; you  act  like  er  fool,  though,  an’  ef  yer 
’ve  got  sense  enuff  ter  know  it,  why  don’t  yer 
stop.’  ‘ ’Tain’t  easy  stoppin’  when  you’re 
goin’  down  hill,’  ses  he.  ‘ The  furderer  yer 
git  deown,  ther  harder  ’tis  ter  stop,  ain’t  it  ? ’ 
ses  I.  He  didn’t  say  nuthin’,  an’  ’twon’t 
many  days  arter  that,  afore  he  went  off,  an’ 
sometimes  I’ve  kinder  wondered  ef  that  didn’t 
have  nothin’  ter  do  with  it.” 

“ Then  you  don’t  think  he  went  on  account 
of  this  money  ? ” 

“ No,  I don’t.” 


WHAT  CAN  I DO? 


205 


“ You  did  not  know  of  his  being  in  partic- 
ular need  of  money  about  that  time.” 

“ No,  he  want  that  I know’d  on,  but  then 
he  might  be  yer  know,  an’  I know  nothin’ 
’beout  it.” 

“ If  I could  get  the  least  clew  I could  fol- 
low it  up.  Deacon  Goodwin,  or  his  wife, 
might  be  able  to  give  me  one.  I intended  to 
have  asked  them,  but  I could  not  do  it.  You 
know  them  better  than  I do ; perhaps  they 
would  not  think  it  strange  if  you  were  to  ask 
:.hem,  especially  as  you  were  friendly  to  the 
boy.” 

“ Couldn’t  do  it.  I ain’t  easy  scared,  but 
I couldn’t  do  that.  There’s  Mr.  Gray  or  Miss 
Gray,  the  old  folks  think  er  master  sight  on 
them.” 

“ I asked  Mr.  Gray.  He  could  tell  me 
nothing,  and  said  he  did  not  think  Deacon 
Goodwin  could.  I suppose  he  did  not  care  to 
speak  in  disparagement  of  his  son.” 


206 


CARL  BARTLETT ; OR. 


“ Likely.” 

“I  must  work  in  another  direction  then. 
I am  l’eady  and  should  be  glad  to  buy  Down- 
ing’s claim  if  it  is  a just  one.  I will  buy  it, 
just  or  not,  rather  than  have  Deacon  Goodwin 
disturbed ; but,  if  I can  help  it,  that  man 
Downing  does  not  get  a dollar  from  me,  or 
any  one  else,  as  premium  for  his  brutal  treat- 
ment of  the  good  deacon.” 

“ I declare,”  exclaimed  Jotham,  bringing 
his  open  hand  down  on  his  knee  with  tremen- 
dous force.  “ What  on  airth  ther  reason  I 
didn’t  think  er  that  afore  ? ” 

“ What  is  it  ? ” asked  Mr.  Randolph, 
eagerly. 

“ Why,  that  ere  Seth  Downin’s  in  Mr. 
Murdock’s  office.” 

“ What,  the  mortgagees  son  ? ” 

“ Yes,  that’s  him.” 

“ And  who  is  Mr.  Murdock  ? ” 

“ Mr.  Murdock  over  to  Shiretown.  Lawyer 


Murdock.” 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


207 


“ Ah.  Deacon  Goodwin’s  lawyei.” 

“Yes.  He  an’  his  father  afore  him  alius 
done  what  law  business  ther  deacon  had; 
’twan’t  much,  I guess.’, 

“ And  it  was  to  his  office  that  Josiah  Good- 
win should  have  carried  the  papers.” 

“ I tell  you  he  did  kerry  ’em  there.  That 
Seth  Downin’  knows  he  did.  ’Pend  on’t.” 

“ What  kind  of  a young  man  is  he  ? ” 

“ He  ain’t  much  uv  a man.  He’s  er  big 
boy  an’  er  smart  one  too.  They  dew  say  he’s 
getting  ter  be  quite  considerable  uv  er  lawyer. 
He’s  one  uv  them  chaps  that’s  goin’  ter  be 
rich,  enny  how.” 

“ I understand.  Not  particularly  honest.” 
“No,  not particJcler  honest.” 

“ I should  hardly  think  that  Deacon  Good- 
win would  entrust  business  to  a lawyer  of 
that  class.” 

“ The  lawyer  ain’t  in  that  class,  as  I know 
on ; it’s  his  boy  I wus  tellin’  on.” 


208 


CARL  BARTLETT  J OR, 


“An  honest,  honorable  lawyer  does  not 
often  employ  a tricky  clerk.” 

“ I don’t  s’pose  he  knows  it.  I guess  Seth 
looks  eout  middlin’  sharp  not  ter  let  Mr. 
Murdock  hear  him  talk  ther  kind  uv  lingo 
I hev,  ’beout  gittin’  forud  uv  folks.  I never 
seed  Mr.  Murdock  but  onct,  then  I didn’t  see 
nothin’  ’gin  him,  ony  he  helt  his  head  kinder 
high,  ’nuff  sight  higher’n  his  father  did  afore 
him.  I saw  him  plenty  er  times,  the  old  Mr. 
Murdock  I mean  ; he  used  ter  come  over  ter 
see  ther  ’Square,  yer  know ; ’Square  Williams, 
him  that  I work  fur.  Ther  ’Square  he  used 
ter  think  er’  ’stonishin’  sight  uv  him,  an’ 
there  ain’t  no  lionorabler  man  reound  here 
than  ther  ’Square ; a leetle  set  in  his  way 
sometimes,  ter  be  sure ; but  he  means  jest 
right.  I never  know’d  nothin’  but  Mr.  Mur- 
dock’s lionable.  Ef  there’s  enny  thing  ’tain’t 
all  right  in  his  office,  I guess  he  don’t  know 
it,  nor  his  clerk  nuther.  He’s  been  there 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


209 


ever  since  I know’d  enny  thing  ’beout  ’em. 
He  ain’t  very  smart,  looks  kinder  skeered  all 
ther  time.” 

“ A nervous  man,  I suppose.” 

“ Yas,  that’s  it ; narvousy.” 

“ It  does  not  appear  to  be  likely  that  young 
Downing  would  take  such  a way  as  that  to 
make  money,  the  danger  of  detection  is  so 
great.  However,  that  looks  like  a clew,  and 
we  will  follow  it  up.  If  there  is  anything  to 
be  brought  to  light,  we  will  do  it.” 

“ I guess  yer’l  find  it  eout,  an’  yer’l  find 
it  jest  es  I say.  This  ere  is  ther  Shiretown 
House.” 

“You  know,  of  course,  that  we  must  be 
careful  not  to  mention  suspicions  of  any 
kind.  We  might  put  some  one  on  his 
guard.” 

“ I know  all  ’beout  that.  There’s  a pond 
over  ’tuther  side  uv  ther  wall ; they  dew  say 
there’s  nice  pickerel  ter  be  ketched  eout  uv  it, 


210 


CARL  BARTLETT. 


Wall,  ther  feller  es  wants  ter  know  what  yet 
an’  I’ve  been  talkin’  ’beout,  better  go  ketch 
one  uv  them  pickerel;  he’ll  tell  mor’n  I 
will.” 


CHAPTER  XII. 

UR  readers  may  now  wish  to  ask  tho 
same  question  which  Mr.  Randolph 
found  it  so  difficult  to  answer.  Was 
Josiah  Goodwin’s  sudden  disappear- 
ance from  home  the  flight  of  a guilty  youth, 
fearing  detection  ? or,  had  Mr.  Downing  once 
received  the  payment  of  the  debt  which  he 
now  so  clamorously  and  cruelly  demanded. 
In  order  that  we  may  not  be  bewildered 
among  surmises,  but  reach  a satisfactory 
solution  of  the  mystery,  we  must  go  back  a 
few  years,  and  look  at  the  history  of  soma 
members  of  the  Downing  family. 

When  Seth’s  expulsion  from  the  hill  school 
had  became  an  old  story,  and  the  gossip  it 


an 


2'12 


^ARL  BARTLETT  ; OR, 


occasioned  had  subsided,  he  spent  much  of 
his  time  in  the  store,  until  his  father  found 
his  presence  there  was  adding  to  the  already 
fast  increasing  unpopularity  of  the  establish* 
ment.  He  was  then  requested,  in  terms 
more  explicit  than  elegant,  to  seek  some  other 
lounging  place. 

Thus  thrown  upon  their  own  resources,  with 
unlimited  control  of  their  time,  many  boys  no 
more  mature  in  years  than  Seth,  would  have 
found  associates  among  the  idle  and  vicious. 
But  he  never  lost  sight  of  the  fact  that  he  in- 
tended to  push  his  way  through  the  world, 
and  by  fair  means,  or  by  foul,  if  it  must  be  so, 
gain  a standing  as  a man  of  wealth,  and  he 
often  considered  what  path  in  life  would  be 
most  likely  to  lead  to  his  good. 

He  looked  with  an  interest  rare  in  a boy  of 
his  age,  on  the  course  of  those  men  he  had 
a chance  to  scrutinize,  and  framed  his  theo- 
ries as  to  why  this  one’s  career  was  a success, 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


213 


and  that  one’s  a failure.  He  never  let  pass 
an  opportunity  of  being  present  at  a gathering 
of  any  description.  Many  a grave,  pompous 
man,  who  harangued  an  assembly  or  presided 
at  a conclave,  would  have  been  astonished  had 
he  known  that  he  was  the  object  of  such 
disrespectful  criticisms  as  were  passing  through 
the  brain  of  the  lad  in  front. 

A trial  of  general  interest,  which  was  in 
progress  at  Sliiretown,  drew  Seth,  with  many 
other  Clifton  people,  day  after  day,  to  the 
court  house.  He  watched  the  proceedings 
closely,  noted  the  manner  of  different  lawyers, 
and  thought  wherein  he,  Seth  Downing, 
could  have  done  better.  A great  opinion  of 
his  own  powers  had  Seth  Downing.  Before  the 
trial  concluded,  he  had  decided  on  his  course 
in- life  ; it  should  be  that  of  a lawyer. 

“ Capital  chance  for  a smart  man  there,” 
thought  he,  as  he  noted  the  dexterity  with 
which  one  of  the  first  (first  in  talent  and  first 


214  CAKL  BARTLETT  ; OB. 

.n  lack  of  conscience)  criminal  lawyers  twisted 
circumstances,  distorted  facts  and  misrepre- 
sented testimony.  Unbounded  was  his  admi- 
ration of  the  ability  and  practical  skill  of  the 
man,  and  from  that  day  he  had  a model  which 
he  intended  to  copy,  and  excel  if  possible. 

“ There  is  no  profession,  no  business  like 
that  for  a smart  man  to  get  in,”  he  concluded : 
“ but  then  he’s  got  to  study  tremendously  if 
he’s  going  to  make  any  thing  at  it.  How  in 
the  world  am  I going  to  get  a chance  to 
study  ? It’s  no  use  to  ask  the  old  man  to 
send  me  to  college ; might  if  he  was  a mind 
to ; but  he’s  too  mean.  I’ll  push  ahead  some- 
way, though  ; ‘ faint  heart  never  won  a fair 
lady.’  ” 

He  had  many  good  qualities.  Industrious 
and  persevering  when  he  had  an  object  .in 
view,  quick-witted,  yet  a patient  waiter,  the 
material  for  a man  of  note  was  there.  But  all 
good  qnalities  were  tnrned  aside,  and  fouled  by 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  7 


215 


the  determination  to  outwit  those  he  might 
deal  with,  by  his  confidence  in  his  own  ability 
to  overreach.  Had  he  heeded  Jotham  Hodg- 
kins, he  might  have  been  saved  many  a disaj> 
- pointment,  and  avoided  many  a pitlall  on 
life’s  journey. 

“ I tell  you  what  ’tis,  Seth  Downin’,” 
said  Jotham,  one  day  after  Seth  had  been  ex- 
tolling the  power  of  wits  well  used,  “ I tell 
yer  what  ’tis ; honest  wits  is  very  good,  but 
wits  as  ain’t  honest  ain’t  ser  good.  Some 
heow  er  feller  es  gots  wits  as  ain’t  honest, 
does  drefful  shaller  things  sometimes ; they 
seem  ter  git  inter  er  chaps  eyes,  and  sorter 
blind  him,  like  ther  sun  does ; an’  he  don’t  see 
what  he's  runnin’  agin’,  or  what  he’s  trav- 
ellin’  inter,  an’  first  thing  he  knows  he  comes 
up  ker  smash,  or  comes  down  ker  chunk. 

“ Now  yer  see  ’taint  so  with  honest  wits ; 
they  don’t  get  afore  er  fellers  eyes  so  he  can’t 
see  nothin’  ’cept  what’s  jest  under  his  nose.  I 


^16 


CARL  rartlett;  or, 


reckon  they  gits  er  hind  on  ’em  an’  helps  him 
see  all  around  on  him.  Be  es  smart  es  yer 
mind  ter  be,  Seth  Downin’,  but  ef  yer  ain’t 
honest,  yer’ll  be  afeard  all  the  time,  some- 
body ’ell  come  long  an’  trip  yer  up. 

“ It’s  kinder  like  er  man  es  used  ter  live 
nigh  where  I did.  He  sot  eout  ter  build 
fences  for  folks.  Wall,  one  day  he  was  er 
buildin’  fences  fur  er  man,  an’  ’twas  a kinder 
back  road  where  nobody  didn’t  come  much, 
an’  he  got  ’long  mighty  fast ; yer  see  he 
picked  eout  tlier  short  posts  an’  them  that 
’twant  ser  good  es  ’tuthers,  an’  stuck  ’em  in  ' 
he  didn’t  hev  ter  dig  only  leetle  holes,  an’  he 
airnt  his  pay  ’mazin’  easy- 

“ Wall,  one  dark  night  what  does  he  do 
but  drive  long  that  ere  road.  Wall,  he  got 
long  well  ’nuff,  till  he  come  ter  where  he’d 
bin  buildin’  fences.  ’Thad  rained  tolubte 
hard,  and  blow’d  toluble  hard,  a few  days 
’long  back,  an’  ther  wus  er  string  uv  his  fence 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


217 


layin’  right  deown  flat  on  the  ground.  Wall, 
he  couldn’t  see  it,  an’  fust  thing  he  know’d 
he’d  druv  right  straight  inter  it.  Tlier  hors, 
he  was  a high-headed  critter,  an’  thar;  kind  uv 
travellin’  wan’t  very  easy  travellin’  for  er 
hors,  an’  he  got  skecred  an’  run,  an’  throw’d 
ther  man  eout  an’  broke  his  leg  and  smashed 
ther  wagon  all  ter  pieces,  an’  hurt  hisself  so 
bad  he  had  ter  be  killed. 

“ That  ere  man  never  walked  straight  arter 
that.  I dunno  what  was  the  reason,  leg  want 
sot  right  or  suthin’ ; he  always  limped  arter 
that.  I never  seed  him  but  I wanted  ter  tell 
him,  ef  he’d  er  taken  er  ’nuther  day  fur  ther 
fence,  an’  put  in  more  posts,  an’  made  er 
good  square  fence,  he’d  er  been  ’nuff  sight 
better  olf.  He  wouldn’t  er  lost  er  good  boss 
an’  wagon,  an’  he  wouldn’t  er  had  ter  go 
limpin’  reound  all  the  rest  uv  his  life.  When 
er  chap  gits  caught  in  what  ain’t  fair,  he  hes 
ter  dew  er  considerable  limpin’  arter  wards,  I 


218 


CARL  BARTLETT;  OR, 


reckon,”  said  Jotham,  who  was  apt  to  deliver 
his  ideas  as  his  brain  furnished  them,  in 
happy  ignorance  of  all  rules  of  grammar  and 
rhetoric. 

“ Ef  yer  want  ter  get  on  in  ther  world,”  he 
continued,  “ an’  keep  on  steady,  yer  better  be 
honest,  Seth  Downin’.” 

“ I know  a man,”  replied  Seth,  “ that  is  so 
green  he  lets  ivery  body  else  get  aheaC  of 
him.  No  wonder  he’s  always  been  behind 
another  man’s  plough,  and  will  be  all  his 
days.” 

“Yer’ d — ruther — be — under — ther  — 
harrer — fur  stealin’  his  apples — I s’ pose. 
Wall, — I — hadn’t,  but — there’s  no  count- 
in’ fur  tastes,  I’ve  hearn  say,”  drawled 
Jotham. 

Seth  began  to  think  he  was  in  a hurry,  and 
soon  disappeared. 

“What  an  interminable  tongue  that  Jotham 
has  got,”  he  said  as  he  walked  along,  “ and  a 


WHAT  CAN  I DO? 


219 


verdant  chap  like  that,  undertake  to  tell  a 
smart  man  how  to  get  on  in  the  world.”  He 
threw  back  his  head  and  laughed  one  of  his 
loud  laughs, 

“ No  use  ter  waste  breath  tellin’  on  him 
what  he  orter  dew,”  said  Jotham ; “ he’s  sure 
to  go  crooked  somehow.” 

All  Seth’s  industry,  perseverance,  intellect 
and  patience,  he  determined  should  be  brought 
to  bear  on  one  object,  the  gaining  of  the 
knowledge  necessary  to  fit  him  to  take  his 
place  at  the  bar.  With  little  hope  of  success 
in  that  direction,  yet  resolute  to  leave  no 
means  untried,  he  concluded  to  ask  his  father 
for  funds  to  enable  him  to  commence  prepara- 
tion for  college,  but  he  was  met  with  the  usual 
complaints  of  heavy  expenses  and  business 
losses.  Seth  well  knew  that  it  was  useless 
to  urge  his  request,  but  patiently  waited  for 
an  opening  which  he  might  enter.  He  be- 
came a constant  attendant  upon  the  court 


220 


CARL  BARTLETT  ; OB, 


when  it  was  in  session  at  Shiretown,  and  was 
soon  well  known  by  the  lawyers  who  habitu- 
ally practised  there,  ingratiating  himself  by 
persistent  attentions,  running  errands  for 
them,  carrying  their  bags,  and  occasionally 
even  finding  references  for  them.  Thus  he 
picked  up  many  law  terms  and  phrases.  A 
small  beginning,  but  still,  a beginning;  he 
was  yet  young  and  could  afford  to  make  slow 
progress. 

In  one  of  his  visits  to  Shiretown,  he  had 
learned  that  Mr.  Wales,  senior  member  of  the 
firm  of  Wales  and  Clark,  wished  to  be  re- 
lieved of  some  of  his  business  cares,  and  that 
the  firm  would  take  a partner.  He  lost  no 
time  in  repeating  the  intelligence  to  his  father, 
who  received  it  grumblingly,  but  went  the 
next  day  to  call  upon  them. 

He  found  Seth’s  statement  to  be  correct, 
and  made  a proposition  to  the  partners,  which 
they  agreed  to  take  into  consideration,  but 


WHAT  «AN  I DO 


221 


fust  asked  why  he  wished  to  leave  Clifton. 
Mr.  Downing  replied  that  he  was  desirous 
of  getting  into  business  in  a larger  place  and 
among  more  liberal  minded  people.  The 
partners  had  heard  reports  derogatory  to  him, 
but  thought  they  might  be  without  founda- 
tion ; and  even  if  the  hints  thrown  out  had 
foundation,  his  evident  knowledge  of  business 
would  make  him  an  acquisition  to  them,  while 
as  junior  partner,  he  would  be  under  restraint. 

Their  conference  resulted  in  the  decision  to 
admit  Mr.  Downing  into  the  firm,  and  it  was 
in  order  to  make  up  the  stipulated  capital  that 
he  had  urged  the  discharge  of  Deacon  Good- 
win’s indebtedness.  The  family  removed  to 
Shiretown,  and  Seth  felt  that  he  had  taken 
one  step  towards  his  object.  He  applied  to 
Mr.  Murdock  for  the  position  of  office-boy, 
and  offered  to  give  his  services  for  the  use 
of  the  lawyer’s  books  and  an  occasional  direc- 
tion at  out  his  reading.  Mr.  Righter  had  been 


222 


CARL  BARTLETT;  OR, 


clerk  for  Mr.  Murdock,  senior,  and  held  the 
same  place  now  that  the  son  had  taken  pos- 
session. Constant  and  faithful  in  his  long- 
continued  attention  to  office  routine,  old  age 
was  creeping  upon  him,  and  Mr.  Murdock  was 
not  unwilling  to  receive  so  cheap  an  assistant 
in  daily  drudgery,  especially  as  he  knew  that 
Seth  was  a good  and  rapid  penman. 

Seth  had  taken  another  step.  He  entered 
the  office  determined  to  serve  his  employer 
with  all  his  powers  and  make  himself  indis- 
pensable there.  He  worked  cheerfully  and 
diligently  on  the  tedious  documents  given  him 
to  copy,  and  was  on  the  alert  at  all  times. 
Av  every  leisure  moment  he  poured  over  one 
or  other  of  the  calf-bound  books,  which,  with 
the  exception  of  the  daily  newspaper,  were 
the  only  office  literature. 

Three  months  passed  in  this  way,  when 
tne  day,  on  going  home  to  dinner,  ho  heard 
the  complaints  which  were  familial’  to  the  ears 
of  all  the  Downing  family. 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


223 


“ There’s  that  mortgage  of  Deacon  Good- 
will’s,” Mr.  Downing  concluded,  u I’ve  asked 
him  for  it  time  and  time  again.  I can’t  af- 
ford to  lose  it.” 

Such  representations  were  so  common  that 
they  would  have  made  no  impression  on  the 
mind  of  the  son,  had  not  Josiah  Goodwin 
stepped  into  the  office  a few  moments  after 
his  own  return,  and  asked  for  Mr.  Murdock. 

“ He  is  not  in,”  said  Mr.  Righter.  “ He 
will  be  here  in  the  course  of  an  hour.” 

“ Father  wants  him  to  see  to  that,”  said 
Josiah.  “ Mr.  Downing  is  coming  in  to  see 
him  about  it.”  And  he  laid  a paper  on  the 
clerk’s  desk,  and  went  directly  out. 

At  the  same  moment,  the  door  on  the 
opposite  ride  of  the  room  opened,  a lawyer 
whose  office  was  in  the  same  building,  thnm 
in  his  head  and  said,  “ Just  come  and  witness 
this  paper  for  me,  will  you,  Righter  ? ” 

It  was  Mr.  Righter’s  custom,  whenever  any 


224 


CARL  BARTLETT;  OR, 


letter  or  paper  was  left  in  Mr.  Murdock’s 
absence,  to  place  it  in  a certain  pigeon-hole  in 
his  desk,  and  when  that  gentleman  returned, 
the  contents  of  the  pigeon-hole,  be  they  more 
or  less,  were  handed  to  him.  The  old  clerk 
depended  more  upon  his  methodical  habits, 
than  upon  his  failing  memory  ; but  upon  this 
occasion  he  was  confused  by  the  double  call  on 
his  attention,  for  when  one  thought  had  pos- 
session of  Mr.  Righter’s  brain,  another  could 
not  gain  a lodgment,  unless  the  first  moved 
on  and  made  way.  He  descended  from  his 
high  office-stool,  and  hastily  obeyed  the  sum- 
mons, leaving  Deacon  Goodwin’s  papers  ly- 
ing on  the  desk. 

“ Ah,”  thought  Seth,  “ the  governor  thinks 
he’s  mighty  sharp.  I don’t  believe  but  Uncle 
David  has  paid  that  mortgage,  and  he  wants 
to  make  it  out  he  hasn’t.  I’m  as  smart  as  he 
is  any  day.  We’ll  see  about  that.”  He 
leaned  over  and  took  the  paper  from  Mr. 


WHAT  CAN  I DO? 


225 


Rightcr’s  desk.  Seth  never  acknowledged  his 
relationship  to  his  parent  when  he  spoke  of 
him,  or  to  him,  but  always  called  him  gov- 
ernor, old  man,  or  by  some  like  respectful 
title. 

He  opened  the  paper ; out  fell  the  note  that 
the  boy’s  father  afterwards  showed  Deacon 
Goodwin.  As  it  fluttered  to  the  floor,  a step 
was  on  the  stairway.  Seth  had  barely  time 
to  secure  the  smaller  paper,  and  thrust  it  with 
the  larger  one,  open,  into  his  desk  ; when 
Mr.  Murdock  entered,  he  was  intent  upon  a 
volume  of  law  reports. 

In  another  moment  Mr.  Rigliter  returned, 
looked  among  the  papers  on  his  desk,  and  in 
his  desk,  fidgeted  i i his  seat,  and  at  last,  in 
answer  to  Mr.  Murdock’s  question,  “ Any 
thing  for  me,  Mr.  Righter  ? ” handed  him  a 
letter  only. 

An  hour  passed.  Mr.  Murdock  sat  turning 
over  a written  document  belonging  to  a case 


226 


CARL  BARTLETT;  OR, 


on  which  he  was  retained,  arranging  an  argu- 
ment in  his  mind.  “ I wonder  if  he  is  ever 
going  home  ? ” thought  Seth  ; “ he’s  always 
off  before  this  time.  Isn’t  Righter  ever  going 
to  get  that  copy  done  ? ” 

Scratch,  scratch,  scratch  went  the  clerk’s 
pen. 

“ I’ll  do  the  rest  of  that  copy  for  you,  Mr. 
Righter,”  he  said  aloud. 

“ No,  thank  you,”  was  the  reply.  “ I don’t 
like  to  see  two  hands  on  one  page.” 

Scratch,  scratch  still. 

“ The  old  prig,”  was  Seth’s  mental  com- 
ment. “ If  he’d  only  give  me  a chance  to 
slip  this  mortgage  into  his  desk,  among  his 
papers,  I’d  be  all  right ; he’d  think  he’d 
overlooked  it.” 

But  no  chance  was  given  him.  The  clerk 
finished  his  copying,  took  his  hat  from  the 
peg  over  his  desk,  brushed  it  with  his  elbow 
with  the  air  of  a man  who  was  trying  to  re- 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


227 


call  a straying  thought,  put  it  firmly  on  his 
head,  and  vanished. 

Mr.  Murdock  sat  absorbed  in  his  incipient 
argument,  and  Seth  sat  apparently  absorbed 
in  “ Reports  of  Marine  Cases,”  but  really 
debating  with  himself  whether  he  should  ven- 
ture to  go  to  Mr.  Righter’s  desk,  whether  he 
could  place  the  paper  there  without  attracting 
Mr.  Murdock’s  attention ; but  the  lawyer’s 
eyes  were  sharp,  his  ears  keen,  and  Seth  well 
knew  what  would  be  the  consequences,  were 
he  detected  in  meddling  with  aught  intended 
for  his  principal. 

The  perplexed  boy  was  about  to  open  his 
desk,  in  order  to  fold  the  paper  and  tuck  i , 
wider  the  collection  of  scraps,  memoranda, 
and  rejected  copy ; but  at  that  moment  Mr. 
Murdock  turned  round,  and  looking  through 
the  door  between  the  inner  and  outer  office, 
said,  “ You  there,  Downing  ? You  need  not 
wait  for  me.  I will  lock  the  door  to-night/' 


228 


CARL  BARTLETT;  OR, 


“ Hadn’t  I better  stop  and  take  the  keys  su 
1 can  sweep  out  in  the  morning  ? ” 

“ No,  you  can  stop  at  my  house  for  them  a3 
you  go  by,”  replied  Mr.  Murdock,  coming  to 
a book  case  directly  behind  Seth’s  stool,  where 
lie  stood  taking  down  volume  after  volume, 
reading  a page  in  one,  a sentence  in  another, 
and  looking  at  the  table  of  contents  of  a 
third. 

Still  Seth  lingered  until  Mr.  Murdock  said 
tartly,  “ I don’t  wish  you  to  wait,  Downing.” 
He  dared  not  disobey,  but  was  he  to  go  and 
leave  that  deed  spread  open,,  within  a few  feet 
of  Mr.  Murdock’s  hand  ? What  if  his  em- 
ployer should  open  the  desk,  as  he  often  did. 
It  was  not  considered  private  property,  but 
his  desk  and  Mr.  Righter’s  were  simply  recep- 
tacles of  business  papers,  and  Mr.  Murdock 
felt  at  liberty  to  open  either  in  the  absence  of 
clerk,  or  student.  Seth  appropriated  the 
latter  title.  But  there  was  no  gainsaying  the 


WHAT  CAN  I DO? 


229 


lawyer’s  order,  and  the  boy  left  the  office  bit- 
terly reproaching  himself. 

“ What  a fool  I was  to  stick  my  nose  in  at 
all.  I could  have  found  out  all  I wanted  to 
know  some  other  way.  Now  if  I’m  caught, 
it  ’ll  be  no  kind  of  use  to  say  I didn’t  mean  to 
pocket  it,  and  it  ’ll  be  all  up  with  me  there. 
It’s  all  ‘ the  old  man’s  ’ fault,  too ; if  he 
hadn’t  lied  about  it,  I shouldn’t  be  in  this 
scrape.” 

He  started  for  the  office  in  the  morning, 
earlier  than  usual,  stopped  at  Mr.  Murdock’} 
house  for  the  keys,  but  was  told  that  he  hal 
already  left  home.  With  quick,  heating  heart 
he  hastened  on  to  find  the  door  of  the  lawyer’s 
room  nearly  closed,  and  Mr.  Kighter  standing 
beside  his  employer’s  chair,  both  the  men  ex- 
amining a paper  closely  resembling  in  size, 
color,  etc.,  the  one  that  cost  the  boy  so  much 
anxiety  within  the  last  eighteen  hours.  He 
heard  Mr.  Murdock  say  as  he  folded  it  and 


230 


CARL  BARTLETT ; OR, 


placed  it  in  a drawex*,  “ It  is  well  that  we  have 
it  now,  but  I must  look  into  this ; it  must  not 
happen  again.”  Mr.  Righter  came  out  and 
went  to  his  desk.  Mr.  Murdock  called  Seth, 
gave  him  a handful  of  letters,  and  asked  him 
to  put  them  in  the  post-office  at  once. 

“ That’s  to  get  rid  of  me  so  he  can  talk  it 
over  with  Righter,”  he  thought,  as  he  went 
into  the  street.  “ What  was  he  to  do  now  ? 
He  had  just  got  things  in  train,  his  prospect 
of  getting  on  was  fair,  and  now  all  was  spoilt, 
all  his  plans  overturned.  Murdock  would  not 
let  him  stay  in  the  office  another  day.  But 
could  he  do  anything  more  than  dismiss  him  ? 
Might  he  not  make  more  serious  trouble? 
Perhaps  it  would  be  best  not  to  go  back  to  be 
turned  out.  But  what  then  ? He  could  not 
leave  the  town.  No,  he  might  as  well  go 
back  and  take  the  consequences.  There  was 
nothing  else  to  do  after  all ; he  should  not 
help  anything  by  being  frightened.” 


WHAT  CAN  1 DO? 


281 


The  distance  he  had  to  walk  was  short,  but 
thoughts  came  rapidly  under  the  stimulus  of 
fear.  In  those  few  moments  Seth  suffered 
touch,  and  w e could  have  pitied  him,  had  not 
all  his  distress  been  utterly  selfish  ; all  caused 
by  the  fear  that  his  plans  for  individual  ag- 
grandizement might  come  to  nought.  Not  a 
thought  of  the  disgrace  and  sorrow  he  might 
bring  on  others  ; not  a shadow  of  the  shame 
which  detection  in  a dishonorable  act  brings 
to  many  who  have  no  shame  for  the  act  itself. 
No,  we  have  no  pity  for  the  boy  as  he  slowly 
ascends  the  stairs,  his  mind  made  up  “to 
take  what  comes,”  and  thinking  what  he  shall 
say,  and  how  he  shall  act,  that  the  blow  may 
fall  as  lightly  as  possible. 

Neither  do  we  enter  into  his  joy  as  he  raises 
the  lid  which  he  dared  not  lift  last  night,  and 
sees  the  dreaded,  the  hateful  paper  safe.  Ah ! 
but  was  it  safe  ? Had  it  not  been  placed 
there  in  his  absence  ? Had  he  not  been  de- 


CARL  BARTLETT;  OK, 


232 

spatched  on  the  errand  so  the  trap  might  be 
set  for  him  ? Perhaps  Mr.  Murdock  found  it 
last  evening,  and  after  consulting  with  Mr. 
Righter,  replaced  it,  intending  to  watch  the 
course  of  the  purloiner. 

Seth  was  as  much  perplexed  as  ever. 
Should  he  produce  the  paper,  acknowledge  his 
error,  and  explain  the  temptation?  If  Mr. 
Murdock  had  really  detected  him,  that  was 
the  best  course  to  pursue  ; the  only  one  which 
afforded  the  least  possibility  of  escape  from 
the  dreaded  consequences.  If  he  had  not 
made  the  discovery,  and  the  paper  had  re- 
mained undisturbed,  what  a blunder  to  be  the 
first  to  call  attention  to  it. 

“ Better  wait  a while,  and  see  if  I can’t 
find  out  something  more.”  So,  as  usual, 
Seth  decided  against  the  straight  forward 
course,  and  before  the  morning  had  passed, 
congratulated  himself  on  having  done  so. 

Mr.  Righter’ s desk  was  in  perfect  order; 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


2 83 

not  a speck  of  dust  was  allowed  a residence 
there.  In  every  pigeon-hole,  every  drawer, 
the  papers,  pens,  pencils,  all  were  placed  in 
exactly  straight  lines.  In  the  body  of  the 
desk  itself  were  packages  of  papers,  each  tied 
up  with  three  turns  of  red  tape.  Though  the 
condition  of  perfect  neatness  was  constantly 
existent,  yet  it  was  the  old  gentleman’s  cus- 
tom, at  stated  intervals,  to  go  through  a 
process  be  called  putting  his  desk  in  order. 
If  the  ceremony  was  commenced,  it  must  be 
concluded  before  the  methodical  man  could 
give  his  attention  to  other  matters.  If 
unexpected  business  came  in,  though  Mr. 
Righter  never  refused  to  attend  to  it,  when 
he  did,  his  distress  was  so  evident,  that 
Mr.  Murdock  rarely  required  the  sacrifice. 
Though  annoyed  at  this,  and  other  foibles  of 
his  clerk,  he  had  so  sincere  a respect  for  his 
father’s  right-hand  man,  and  such  confidence 
in  his  integrity,  that  he  cheerfully  bore  with 
him. 


234 


CARL  BARTLETT;  OB, 


On  this  day,  Mr.  Murdock  was  especially 
anxious  to  dispose  of  all  minor  matters  before 
the  session  of  the  circuit  court,*  which  was 
to  commence  next  week.  He  took  his  news- 
paper, hastily  glanced  over  the  contents,  then 
turned  to  speak  to  Mr.  Righter ; but  he  was 
already  absorbed  in  the  putting  in  order 
process. 

“Why,  Righter,  that  neat  desk  of  yours 
was  set  to  rights  last  week.” 

“ Last  week.  Was  it,  Mr.  Cornelius  ? ” 
the  old  clerk  asked,  in  an  absent  tone. 

Mr.  Murdock  gave  up  the  hope  of  recalling 
him  to  ordinary  work,  for  an  hour  at  least, 
and  summoned  Seth  to  his  aid.  He  was  so 
quick  of  apprehension,  and  so  ready  to 
execute,  Mr.  Righter’s  services  were  hardly 
missed ; and  Mr.  Murdock  was  more  than 
ever  convinced  of  the  valuable  qualities  of  his 
office  boy. 

Mr.  Righter  opened  bundle  after  bundle, 


WHAT  CAN  I DO? 


235 


turned  over  and  examined  every  paper,  re- 
arranged them,  and  tied  them  up  in  just  as 
good  order,  but  no  better  than  they  were 
before.  He  overturned  drawer  after  drawer, 
to  replace  its  contents  just  as  they  had  been 
previous  to  the  somersault.  The  putting  to 
O - der  was  a much  longer  process  than  usual, 
and  did  not  appear  to  produce  the  content 
that  had  always  followed  in  time  past. 

Seth  well  knew  the  meaning  of  this  un- 
easiness, but  it  brought  him  some  relief.  As 
he  saw  paper  after  paper  taken  up,  and  the 
memorandum  on  the  back  carefully  read,  he 
was  more  and  more  persuaded  that  the  search 
was  for  the  document  that  now  lay  snugly 
folded  and  concealed  in  his  own  desk. 

The  fear  of  immediate  detection  was  en- 
tirely removed,  when  Mr.  Murdock  gave  him 
a manuscript  report,  and  asked  him  to  make 
some  extracts  from  it,  saying  that  it  was 
mailed  a week  before,  and  must  have  re- 


236  CARL  BARTLETT  ; OR, 

mained  at  the  Shiretown  office  two  or  three 
days  after  it  should  have  been  delivered. 

“ It  is  quite  important,”  he  continued, 
“ and  there  might  have  been  a serious  loss  if 
it  had  been  delayed  a little  longer.  When 
the  mail  comes  in,  I will  go  over  for  the 
letters,  and  speak  to  the  post-master.” 

“ I don’t  see  how  it  is,”  said  Mr.  Righter, 
as  soon  as  Mr.  Murdock  closed  the  door.  “ I 
thought  Josiah  Goodwin  brought  something 
for  Mr.  Murdock,  yesterday.” 

“ Did  he  ? ” said  Seth,  feigning  surprise  ; 
“ if  he  did,  you  gave  it  to  Mr.  Murdock  of 
course.” 

“No,  it  want  with  the  other  things  for 
him.” 

“If  he  brought  it,  you  will  come  across 
it.” 

“No,  I’ve  been  over  every  paper  in  my 
desk,  and  it  is  not  there.” 

“To  be  sure  you  have,”  thought  the  boy, 


WHAT  CAN  I I}! 


237 


“ and  how  am  I ever  going  to  get  it  back 
now.” 

“ You’re  sure  he  didn’t  bring  any  thing 
yesterday  while  you  was  here,”  asked  the 
puzzled  clerk.  “ I couldn’t  have  dreamed 
it.” 

“No,  I ain’t  sure.  I don’t  know  as  1 
should  know  Josiah  Goodwin  now,  I haven’t 
seen  him  for  so  long.  They  say  he  is  getting 
into  bad  company.  I can’t  afford  to  have 
much  to  do  with  such  young  men.  I’ve  got 
to  make  my  own  way  in  the  world.” 

The  latter  part  of  this  speech  was  for  the 
edification  of  Mr.  Murdock,  who  was  coming 
up  stairs.  “ That  is  right,  Downing.  Al- 
ways remember  that  if  you  are  to  be  anybody 
in  the  world,  you  must  avoid  the  company 
of  the  idle  and  dissipated,”  said  the  lawyer, 
as  he  passed  into  his  private  office. 


CHAPTER  X1H. 


ETH  watched  for  a chance  to  return 
the  paper,  to  place  it  where  it  might 
appear  to  have  been  mislaid.  He 
was  in  constant  terror  of  detection, 
listening  to  every  footfall,  expecting  to  recog- 
nise that  of  his  father  coming  to  fulfil  his 
promise  to  Josiah.  In  trying  to  devise  some 
way  out  of  his  entanglement,  he  could  think 
of  none  that  did  not  threaten  exposure  as  well 
<is  promise  relief. 

Mr.  Righter  continued  his  search  in  his  un- 
certain half-dozed  way,  ransacking  one  part 
of  the  office  at  one  time,  and  another  at 
another,  till  not  an  inch  was  left  unexplored, 
and  Mr.  Murdock’s  patience  was  well  nigh 

exhausted. 

238 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


289 


“ Poor  Righter,”  he  said  to  Mrs.  Murdock, 
“ I don’t  know  but  I shall  be  obliged  to  pen. 
sion  him  off.  I am  afraid  it  would  almost 
kill  the  old  man,  but  he  acts  strangely  lately, 
seems  all  in  a mist,  and  Downing  is  running 
down  too  ; he  is  not  near  as  quick  as  he  was 
at  first.” 

In  this  way  a week  passed.  Mr.  Downing 
did  not  come  to  discharge  his  obligation; 
prompt  when  his  own  interests  were  at  stake, 
he  was  careless  when  others  might  suffer  by 
his  neglect. 

Seth  carried  the  mortgage  in  his  pocket; 
it  was  a leaden  weight ; nothing  more  nor  less 
to  him  than  all  his  prospects  for  life  in  that 
folded  paper.  But  he  dared  not  leave  it  in 
his  desk,  lest  “ that  old  mouser,  Righter,” 
should  find  it.  He  dared  not  leave  it  at 
home  lest  he  should  lose  the  watched-for  op* 
portunity  to  get  it  off  his  hands.  He  saun- 
tered into  the  store  in  the  evening  just  a week 


240 


CARL  BARTLETT;  OR, 


after  he  had  assumed  the  burden,  and  was 
startled  by  hearing  Josiah  Goodwin’s  name. 
A group  of  men  were  in  earnest  conversation, 
and  Josiah  Goodwin  was  the  subject  of  their 
remarks.  Seth  dared  not  venture  near  enough 
to  hear  all  they  said,  but  he  learned  that 
Deacon  Goodwin’s  son  had  left  home  unex- 
pectedly and  for  some  unknown  reason.  The 
thought  at  once  flashed  into  his  mind  that  his 
way  of  escape  was  before  him. 

He  waited  till  his  father  was  ready  to  leave 
for  home,  and  went  with  him,  quite  to  the 
parent’s  surprise,  for  Mr.  Downing  and  his 
son  were  seldom  seen  in  the  streets  of  Shire- 
town  together. 

“ What  is  that  they  wei;e  saying  about 
Josiah  Goodwin  ? ” asked  Seth. 

“ Oh,  I didn’t  mind.  He’s  run  away ; got 
into  some  rascally  scrape  or  other,  I suppose  ; ” 
then  came  the  threadbare  sneer  about  minis- 
ter’s sons  and  deacon’s  daughters. 


WHAT  CAN  I DO? 


241 


“ I say,  governor,  when  are  you  coming  to 
ae ) about  that  deed  ? ” 

“ What  deed  ? ” 

“You  know  well  enough.  The  mortgage 
Tosiah  Goodwin  brought  in  last  week.” 

“ I don’t  know.  I’ll . come  in  soon.  I’m 
busy  now.  Has  Mr.  Murdock  said  any  thing 
about  it  ? ” 

“ No.  Do  you  suppose  Josiah  will  come 
back  ? ” 

“ I can’t  tell.  How  should  I know  any 
thing  about  it  ? ” 

Seth  stopped  under  a street-lamp,  opened 
his  coat,  and  drew  a paper  half-way  out  of  his 
breast  pocket,  held  it  long  enough  for  his 
father  to  read,  “ Mortgage  Deed  from  David 

Goodwin ” thrust  it  back,  when  Mr. 

Downing  tried  to  seize  it,  and  then  buttoned 
up  his  coat. 

“ Where  did  you  get  that  ? ” his  father 
asked  eagerly. 


242 


CARE  BARTLETT ; OR, 


“Oh,  I got  it,  and  Mr.  Murd/;//.  don’t 
know  any  thing  about  it ; don’t  krx>v  V.  i ever 
been  in  the  office.” 

“ Have  you  got  the  note,  too  ? * 

“ Yes,  I’ve  got  the  note,  an Ji  you  needn’t 
be  in  a hurry  to  come  and  aw  Murdock,  be- 
cause  he  don’t  know  as  it’s  b&2n  paid.” 

The  two  walked  on  in  silence,  and  entered 
the  house  together.  Seth  v na  relieved  in  one 
particular;  there  was  no  danger  that  his 
father  would  be  the  first  t • bring  his  sin  to 
light.  If  it  was  discover.  1,  he  would  very 
probably  denounce  his  son  but  he  was  on  his 
guard,  and  would  not  bet . ay  him  without  an 
inducement. 

Mr.  Downing’s  greed  ‘hr  gold,  his  desire 
for  gain,  honest  or  disl  west,  “ got  into  his 
eyes,”  as  Jotham  had  sard  to  Seth.  The  gain 
was  magnified  a thousand  fold  ; the  chance  of 
exposure,  and  the  probable  consequences,  di 
mini  shed  or  receded. 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  V 


243 


“ There  are  two  thousand  dollars  I might 
have  just  as  well  as  not,  if  I only  knew 
that  boy  wouldn’t  come  home.  Suppose  ho 
should ; who’s  going  to  believe  him,  when  I’ve 
got  all  the  papers  ? The  old  deacon  won’t 
live  long,  then  I can  come  in,  if  Josiah  don’t 
come  ; if  he  does,  and  there’s  a fuss  about  it, 
I can  give  up  the  papers,  and  say  he  was 
drunk  when  he  paid  me;”  and  he  concluded 
to  ask  Seth  for  the  coveted  documents. 

“ Seth,  I can  take  better  care  of  those 
papers  than  you  can.  I’ll  take  them  and  put 
them  into  the  safe.” 

With  pretended  reluctance  Seth  delivered 
up  the  mortgage,  the  note  being  inside.  Mr. 
Downing  carefully  laid  them  in  his  private 
drawer  in  the  safe,  turned  the  key  on  them, 
and  put  the  bunch  of  keys  in  his  pocket. 

Seth  went  into  the  office  and  found  Mr. 
Righter  alone  there,  prying  about  in  the  half- 
bewildered  manner  that  had  so  increased 
upon  the  old  man  of  late. 


244 


CARL  BARTLETT ; OR, 


“ They  say  Josiah  Goodwin  has  gone 
away,”  he  began. 

“ Yes,  I heard  something  of  the  kind  ; he 
is  a poor  lot ; we  can  spare  him.” 

“Wan’t  you  here  when  he  brought  some- 
thing for  Mr.  Murdock  ? I can’t  remember 
just  clearly  about  it.” 

“ I guess  you  can’t.  You’ve  asked  me 
(hat  question  a dozen  times  before.  Why, 
Righter,  you  must  have  been  dreaming. 
Josiah  Goodwin  hasn’t  been  in  this  office,  to 
my  knowledge,  since  I’ve  been  here.” 

“ Well,  I don’t  know  ; perhaps  1 did  dream 
about  it.  If  he’d  brought  any  thing  in,  I 
should  have  put  it  right  there  in  my  desk, 
where  I always  put  Mr.  Murdock’s  things.” 
“ Of  course  you  would.  You’ve  had  a 
dream  about  Josiah  Goodwin,  depend  upon 
it” 

“ Well,  may  be  I have.” 

Seth  was  relieved ; the  evidence  of  his  guilt 


WHAT  CAN  I DO? 


245 


was  not  a constant  care ; it  was  in  another’s 
keeping,  and  the  danger  was  not  his  alone. 

Mr.  Righter  gave  up  his  fruitless  search, 
and  settled  back  into  his  old  routine.  Above 
all,  Josiah  Goodwin  did  not  return. 

“ How  is  Mr.  Righter  getting  along  ? ” 
Mrs.  Murdock  inquired  of  her  husband,  a 
few  days  after  Seth  had  transferred  so 
large  a portion  of  his  burden  to  the  paternal 
shoulders. 

“ He  is  doing  much  better.  He  is  a re- 
liable old  man ; if  he  had  been  more  efficient, 
he  would  not  have  been  my  father’s  clerk  and 
mine  all  these  years ; that  would  have  been 
our  loss.  Downing,  too,  seems  to  have  re- 
covered his  quick  wits.” 

So  all  went  smoothly  again  at  Mr.  Mur- 
dock’s office. 

Meanwhile  Mr.  Downing  had  been  to  Bos- 
ton to  buy  goods,  and  encountered  Josiah 
Goodwin,  in  the  garb  of  a sailor,  on  one  of 


246 


CARL  BARTLETT  ; OR, 


the  wharves.  He  dogged  the  young  man’s 
footsteps  till  he  saw  him  go  on  board  a large 
clipper  ship,  then  asked  who  the  owners  were, 
and  managed  to  obtain  from  them  that  no 
such  name  was  on  the  register ; ascertained 
the  time  set  for  sailing,  and  was  down  on  the 
wharf  to  see  the  clipper  towed  down  the 
harbor  with  Deacon  Goodwin’s  son  on  board, 
Josiah  had  shipped  before  the  mast  under  a 
feigned  name. 

This  information  Mr.  Downing  did  not  bear 
to  the  sorrow  stricken  parents ; it  was  kept 
tor  his  own  use.  He  carefully  watched  the 
ship  news,  saw  the  report  of  the  arrival  of 
the  “ Winged  Keel  ” in  one  harbor,  later  in 
another.  Then  for  months  there  were  no 
tidings  ; next  short  paragraphs  appeared,  ex- 
pressing the  fear  that  the  “ Winged  Keel  ” 
had  gone  to  the  bottom. 

“ And  the  deacon’s  son  with  her ; that’s 
about  the  right  place  for  him,”  was  Mr. 
Downing’s  reflection. 


WHAT  CAN  I DO? 


247 


Finally  the  “ Winged  Keel  ” was  given  up ; 
it  was  months  since  she  had  been  due  at  an 
East  Indian  port  and  nothing  had  been  heard 
of  her  ; she  was  probably  a total  wreck  and  all 
on  board  lost. 

“ Now,”  thought  Mr.  Downing,  “ if  the  old 
deacon  would  die,  I should  be  all  right.” 

But  the  hale  old  man  had  no  thought  of 
departing  from  the  world  to  give  the  unprin- 
cipled schemer  an  opportunity  for  further 
wrong  doing : he  lived  on  in  ignorance  of  the 
plots  against  him. 

The  papers  lay  in  the  safe  drawer ; to  the 
owner  of  the  drawer  so  much  idle  capital. 
He  never  saw  them  without  regretting,  that 
he  dared  not  put  them  to  a good  use.  “A 
good  use ! ” Ah,  yes,  Mr.  Downing,  they  shall 
be  put  to  a good  use. 

Again  the  greed  for  gain  blinded  him,  and 
suddenly,  without  consulting  Seth,  he  deter- 
mined “ to  realize  on  the  properly.” 


248 


CARL  BARTLETT;  OR, 


“ I’ll  sell  that  old  man  out  before  he  knows 
what  I’m  about;  then  he  may  fight  it  out 
with  the  buyer.” 

“ That’s  a pretty  bold  push,  governor,”  said 
Seth,  when  the  advertisement  appeared  in  the 
county  paper,  “ may  be  you  can  make  it  go, 
but  if  you  had  asked  my  advice,  I should  have 
told  you  to  hold  on  a little  longer.  You’d 
better  burn  up  the  deed  ; it  might  be  awkward 
for  you  and  your  dutiful  son  if  it  should  come 
to  light.  Your  signature  is  on  the  margin, 
you  know.” 

“ I’ll  look  out  for  that.” 

Seth  supposed  his  warning  would  be  heeded, 
but  his  father  thought  the  possessioh  of  the 
paper  was  another  proof  of  bis  right  to  pursue 
the  course  he  had  started  on,  and  meant  to 
“ look  out  ” that  the  acknowledgment  on  the 
margin  should  not  be  visible,  if  the  document 
itself  was. 

The  result  of  the  first  auction,  was  quite 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


249 


unexpected  to  him,  and  he  would  gladly  have 
receded,  but  that  would  be  a confession  of 
weakness,  and  excite  suspicion  ; he  must  go 
on  ; hence  his  haste  to  conclude  the  bargain 
with  Mins. 

Occupied  by  the  extra  business  of  court 
week,  Mr.  Downing  had  not  heard  of  the  turn 
of  affairs  at  the  Goodwin  homestead,  or  of  the 
arrival  of  the  stranger,  who  had  been  instru- 
mental in  bringing  them  about.  Seth  had 
been  sent  by  Mr.  Murdock,  in  the  middle  of 
the  afternoon,  to  a neighboring  town,  and  had 
not  returned  till  after  the  adjournment  of  the 
court.  His  younger  brother,  who  had  been 
despatched  to  Clifton  on  a reconoissance, 
had  reported  the  sale  in  progress.  The  con- 
federates, father  and  son,  each  in  the  morn- 
ing went  to  his  occupation,  sanguine  that  a 
troublesome  affair  was  nearly  disposed  of. 


CHAPTER  XI Y. 

T was  late  in  the  evening  when  Mr. 
Randolph  joined  the  party  of  lawyers 
gathered  in  the  small  parlor  of  the 
Shiretown  House.  The  judge  re- 
ceived him  with  cordiality,  and  most  of  the 
other  gentlemen  had  seen  him  in  the  after- 
noon at  the  court-house,  though  he  was  per- 
sonally known  to  Mr.  Winnot  only. 

Mr.  Murdock  eyed  the  new  comer  suspi- 
ciously, and  said  to  the  elderly  gentleman  at 
his  elbow,  “ Rather  an  unusual  mode  of  pro- 
ceeding that  you  and  your  friend  brought 
about  this  afternoon,  was  it  not  ? A stretch 
of  power,  it  strikes  me,  for  a judge  to  inter- 
fere in  that  way.” 
aeo 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


251 


“ The  case  was  somewhat  unusual.” 

“ I don’t  think  it  is  well  for  a judge  to  be 
hasty.” 

“ No,  I don’t,  unless  he  has  haste  to  meet. 
I don’t  like  to  see  one  man  deal  hastily  with 
another,  when  he  thinks  he  has  him  in  his 
power.  What  would  you  have  done  in  the 
premises  ? ” 

“ I would  have  postponed  the  case.  1 
would  have  examined  it  before  giving  a 
decision.” 

“ And  let  a respectable,  hard-working  man 
be  turned  out  of  doors  in  his  old  age.” 

“ Law  is  law.” 

“ Yes,  and  justice  is  justice,  and  ought  to 
oe  tempered  with  mercy.” 

“ One  man  has  rights  as  well  as  another,” 
said  Mr.  Murdock. 

“ Certainly  he  has.  The  judge’s  decision 
was  rather  rapid,  to  be  sure,  but  it  was  not 
final;  the  old  gentleman  now  has  time  to 


252 


CAUL  BARTLETT;  OB, 


prove  his  rights,  if  he  can,  and  Downing  has 
time  to  prove  his  claim.  The  judge’s  course 
was  just  what  my  own  would  have  been,  if  I 
had  sat  on  the  bench  in  his  place.” 

“ Downing’s  proof  is  perfectly  good  ; and  1 
don’t  like  to  see  a stranger  come  in  and  ob- 
struct the  regular  course  of  law  in  that  way,” 
said  Mr.  Murdock,  who  was  very  tenacious 
of  his  professional  dignity. 

“ Ah,  that  is  it,  is  it  ? ” thought  Mr.  Win- 
not;  “he  is  more  plain  spoken  than  civil,” 
but  he  answered  good-naturedly : “ If  there  is 
any  blame  there,  it  belongs  to  me  as  much  as 
to  Mr.  Randolph ; but  no  matter ; I’m  not 
sorry  yet  that  I helped  him.  He  is  coming 
this  way ; I will  introduce  you  to  him  ; he  will 
do  more  to  remove  your  unfavorable  impres- 
sions in  five  minutes,  than  I can  in  an  hour.” 
“ I wonder  if  he  expects  to  go  back  of  the 
records,”  said  Mr.  Murdock. 

“ I don’t  know  what  he  intends  to  do,”  was 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


253 


Mi*.  Winnot’s  cool  reply.  “ I would  go  back, 
or  round,  or  over,  or  under  the  records,  if  I 
could,  to  put  a stop  to  injustice.” 

Mr.  Murdock,  now  thoroughly  irritated, 
was  making  his  way  towards  the  door,  willing 
to  escape  the  introduction  to  Mr.  Randolph ; 
but  he  was  stopped  by  a notorious  bore,  who 
never  lacked  question  ready  to  ask.  “ Who 
was  that  young  man  I saw  in  your  office,  this 
morning  ? I thought  I’d  seen  him  before.” 

“ You  know  my  clerk,  Rigliter ; he  is  not  a 
young  man  though.” 

“ No,  no.  I know  him.  The  young  man. 
Don’t  you  remember  he  brought  you  your 
letters  from  the  post-office.” 

“ That  was  my  office  boy,  Downing.” 

“ Oh,  yes,  I knew  I had  seen  him  before. 
Son  of  Downing,  the  shopkeeper,  is  not  he  ? ” 
“Yes.” 

“ Pretty  smart  boy,  isn’t  he  ? ” 

As  the  bore  was  called  by  some  of  his  legal 


254 


CARL  BARTLETT;  OR, 


brethren,  a walking  interrogation  mark,  hia 
questioning  propensities  were  a standing  joke, 
and  the  equanimity  or  the  annoyance  of  his 
victims  was  often  a subject  of  remark.  Well 
aware  of  this,  Mr.  Murdock  answered  quietly, 
while  he  chafed  inwardly,  “ Yes,  he  is  a very 
smart  boy ; he  has  not  been  with  me  long,  but 
he  knows  as  much  law  now,  as  some  young 
men  do  when  they  are  admitted  to  the  bar.” 

The  bore  released  him ; lookers  on  had 
nothing  to  laugh  at,  but  the  impatient  man 
had  not  made  his  escape.  It  was  Mr.  Winnot 
who  stopped  him  this  time. 

“It  appears  to  me  that  I have  heard  of 
that  Downing  before.  Was  he  not  concerned 
in  some  affair  at  Clifton  not  quite  to  his 
credit  ? ” 

“ Wonder  if  that  is  his  business,”  thought 
Mr.  Murdock,  who  liked  far  better  to  criticise 
than  to  have  his  own  actions  called  in  ques- 
tion ; but  he  answered,  “ I believe  there  was 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


255 


some  gossip  about  him,  some  boyish  folly,  I 
suppose.  I think  he  has  got  over  that  now. 
Boys  will  be  boys,  you  know.  I don’t  believe 
in  remembering  all  the  sins  of  youth  against 
one ; give  him  a chance,  I say.” 

“ Oh,  yes,  of  course ; still  I have  a good 
deal  of  faith  in  the  old  saying,  ‘ The  boy  is 
father  to  the  man ; ’ not  that  I would  pro 
nounce  the  boy  who  pulls  olf  a fly’s  wing,  or 
tortures  a defenceless  kitten,  a candidate  for 
the  gallows,  though  I think  it  betrays  a con- 
temptible trait  of  character.  But  in  the  mat- 
ter of  honesty,  and  if  I remember  right  this 
was  a matter  of  meum  and  tuum,  the  man 
will  closely  resemble  the  boy ; if  he  deals 
unfairly  by  his  teacher,  schoolmates,  and  so 
on,  he  is  almost  sure  to  be  a tricky,  dishonest 
man.  That  is  good  doctrine,  is  not  it,  Ran 
dolph  ? Mr.  Randolph,  Mr.  Murdock.  Mr. 
Randolph  has  just  returned  from  abroad.  J 
don’t  know  of  any  two  men  better  fitted  to 


266 


CARL  RARTLETT  , OR, 


compare  notes  than  you  two,”  said  Mr.  Win 
not,  as  he  turned  to  look  for  the  judge.  Five 
minutes  after  he  interrupted  his  conversation 
with  that  official  to  say,  as  he  glanced  smil- 
ingly across  the  room,  “ Murdock  does  not 
feel  so  crusty  as  lie  did.  I thought  Randolph 
would  bring  him  round.  Yery  good  sort  of  a 
man,  Mr.  Murdock,  if  he  would  not  be  always 
taking  care  of  his  dignity ; but  he  will  get 
over  that,  I fancy.” 

“ Oh,  yes,  I think  so  ; and  as  for  Randolph, 
I wish  we  could  keep  him  this  way ; I have 
great  confidence  in  his  judgment.  Have  you 
seen  the  last  digest  of  our  State  laws  ? ” The 
judge  never  talked  of  court-room  occurrences 
outside  the  court  house  walls. 

Mr.  Murdock,  living  in  an  inland  town, 
seldom  had  an  opportunity  to  recall  his  remi- 
niscences of  foreign  travel,  in  conversation 
with  one  fresh  from  “merry  England,”  and 
had  indeed  lost  sight  of  his  irritation.  One 


WHAT  CAN  X DO  ? 


257 


after  another  left  the  room  without  either 
of  the  two  gentlemen,  who  were  seated  on  the 
sofa  in  close  conversation,  noticing  that  they 
were  in  danger  of  being  left  in  possession. 
The  single  stroke  of  the  clock  on  the  chimney 
piece  arrested  the  attention  of  both. 

u That  can’t  be  right,”  said  Mr.  Murdock, 
rising  and  looking  at  his  watch.  “ Even  so. 
I have  lost  two  hours  of  6 nature’s  sweet  re- 
storer,’ Mr.  Randolph,  but  they  are  two  such 
hours  as  I have  not  spent  this  many  a day. 
You  are  a stranger  in  our  State,  I believe.  If 
it  is  in  my  power  to  do  anything  to  make  your 
stay  agreeable,  I should  esteem  it  a favor  if 
you  would  lay  your  commands  upon  me.” 

“ I think  it  very  probable  I may  trespass  on 
your  kindness.” 

“ No  trespass,  I assure  you,  sir.” 

“ I would  be  very  glad  to  consult  you  on 
this  affair  of  Deacon  Goodwin’s,  but  it  is  late 
this  evening.” 


258 


CARL  BARTLETT;  OR, 


Mr.  Murdock’s  brow  contracted  slightly, 
but  he  could  not  recede. 

“ Come  over  and  breakfast  with  me.  Mrs. 
Murdock  is  absent,  and  we  can  talk  business, 
over  our  chops  and  coffee.” 

“ Nothing  could  suit  me  better.” 

Mr.  Murdock  understood  the  duties  of  host, 
and  made  his  guest  perfectly  at  ease,  so  that 
he  had  no  difficulty  in  introducing  the  subject 
that  engaged  his  thoughts. 

“ You  are  acquainted  with  Deacon  Good- 
win, Mr.  Murdock  ? ” 

“ Yes,  slightly ; my  father  knew  him  very 
well,  but  my  acquaintance  is  a strictly  pro- 
fessional one.  Those  quiet  Clifton  farmers 
don’t  make  much  business  for  us.  I had  not 
seen  him  for  a long  time  till  he  came  in  a 
week  or  two  since  to  ask  about  this  mortgage. 
It  is  hard  for  the  old  gentleman  to  suffer  for 
young  scape-graces’  exploits,  but  it  is  the  old 
story,  the  innocent  for  the  guilty ; the  same 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


259 


thing  is  happening  every  day  in  different 
ways.  It  was  annoying  to  me  to  be  called 
upon  for  a document  that  was  never  deposited 
with  me.” 

44  I suppose  Downing’s  interest  could  be 
bought.” 

44  He  has  sold  it  already,  that  is,  he  has 
agreed  to  sell  it ; the  papers  were  to  be  signed 
at  my  office  to-day;  your  success  yesterday 
may  delay  the  transfer.” 

44  I was  just  in  time.” 

" Not  a day  to  spare.” 

“ I must  secure  that  claim.” 

44  It  is  not  at  all  improbable  that  the  pur- 
chaser would  transfer  this  bargain  for  a con- 
sideration. It  is  a money-making  affair  on 
his  part.  I presume  he  buys  the  place  far 
below  its  value.” 

uThen  the  best  way  is  to  negotiate  with 
him  before  going  to  the  mortgagee.” 

44  Decidedly ; and  if  you  will  allow  me  to 


2fi0  CARL  BARTLETT;  OR, 

advise,  I will  say  that  Mr.  Downing  has  the 
reputation  of  being  a passionate  man  — ” 

“ Yes,  I see.  He  might  not  be  able  to  ac- 
commodate the  man  who  had  interfered  in  his 
transactions.” 

“ You  have  it,  sir.” 

“ This  purchaser.  Who  is  he  ? ” 

“ His  name  is  Mins  ; he  is  a rough  sort  of 
a man,  and  if  he  will  not  take  one  sum  he 
will  another ; money  is  more  of  an  object  to 
him  than  it  is  to  you,  I opine.” 

“ He  is  to  be  at  your  office  this  morning.” 

“ Yes,  he  has  some  business  to  look  after 
there ; when  that  is  finished  I am  to  send  for 
Mr.  Downing.  Why  not  walk  over  with  me  ? 
I can  offer  you  an  arm-chair  and  a newspaper, 
and  you  will  excuse  my  attending  to  business, 
I know.” 

“ Of  course.” 

Ten  minutes  later  Mr.  Randolph  sat  in  Mr. 
Murdock’s  private  office,  newspaper  in  hand, 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


261 


occupied  one  moment  with  moving  accidents  by 
flood  and  field,  another  by  studies  in  physiog- 
nomy. Seth  Downing’s  eyes,  nose  and  mouth 
were  being  under  consideration.  He  longed 
to  take  the  boy  by  the  throat,  and  by  the  use 
of  good,  strong  muscle,  force  from  him  the 
knowledge  which  the  investigator  was  almost 
sure  was  in  Seth’s  possession.  But  Mr.  Ran- 
dolph had  a clue,  one  that  would  break 
perhaps  as  soon  as  he  attempted  to  follow  it; 
still  the  line  of  procedure  was  decided  upon, 
and  it  would  not  answer  to  risk  any  short 
cuts,  any  “ breach  of  the  peace.” 

When  Mins  appeared,  Mr.  Murdock  de- 
spatched Seth  to  the  court  house. 

11 1 shall  be  detained  a short  time,  Down- 
ing,” said  he,  “ and  I would  like  to  have  you 
remain  till  I come,  and  give  particular  atten- 
tion to  the  case  on  trial,  so  as  to  report  it 
to  me.” 

“ So  your  governor  didn’t  make  that  trade 


262 


CARL  BARTLETT;  OR, 


quite  so  smooth  as  lie  thought  he  was  going 
to ; haste  makes  waste  sometimes,”  were  the 
first  words  that  Seth  heard  as  he  passed 
between  the  posts  in  front  of  the  court 
house. 

“ What  trade  ? ” 

“ What  trade,  sweet  innocent  ? ” 

The  speaker,  stimulated  by  an  old  grudge, 
was  delighted  to  narrate  the  occurrences  of  the 
previous  afternoon,  and  finished  his  recital  by 
saying,  “ And  Evans  went  right  over  with  the 
man  that  came  in  the  cars,  and  they  say  the 
old  deacon  is  back  again,  snug  in  his  house, 
and  I guess  it  ’ill  be  a job  to  oust  him.  Better 
tell  your  governor,  not  to  be  in  such  a hurry 
next  time,  because  folks  don’t  like  to  see  a 
clever  old  man  tipped  out  that  way.” 

“Tain’t  my  job,”  said  Seth.  “I  told  the 
governor  ’twas  too  bad,  but  he  knows  a great 
sight  more  law  than  I do.  Thinks  he  does,  at 
any  rate  ” 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


263 


He  went  into  the  court  room,  not  at  first  to 
watch  the  trial,  but  to  consider  what  his  own 
course  should  be ; whether  he  should  slip 
out  and  warn  his  father,  or  trust  to  his  hearing 
the  news  by  a chance  informant. 

“ The  old  man  has  got  himself  into  the 
scrape,  and  he  may  get  himself  out  of  it,”  he 
said  to  himself;  and  he  turned  his  attention, 
as  well  as  his  fears  would  allow,  to  testi- 
mony and  evidence. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

INS,  determined  not  to  trust  Mr. 
Downing’s  word,  had  been  early  that 
morning  to  see  if  the  conditions  of 
the  sale  had  been  fulfilled.  Instead 
of  finding  the  dwelling  he  expected  to  move 
into,  tenantless,  he  saw  the  same  aged  couple 
that  had  occupied  it  when  he  was  last  there. 
No  indications  of  change  were  visible,  save 
the  trampled  grass  and  a slight  appearance  of 
disorder  about  the  house.  He  remembered 
Jaques’  warning,  and  almost  wished  he  had 
heeded  it.  It  was  plain  that  Downing  could 
not,  or  would  not  fulfil  his  agreement.  When 
he  reached  Shi  retown  he  learned  what  obstacles 


264 


WHAT  CAN  I DO? 


265 


had  been  placed  in  the  willing  mortgagee’s 
way. 

“ I shan’t  take  those  papers  of  Downing’s 
to-day,”  were  his  first  words  when  the  office 
door  closed  behind  Seth.  “ He  promised  to 
see  that  the  place  was  vacated,  and  he  hasn’t 
done  it,  and  they  say  he  can’t  do  it  for  six 
months ; he’s  got  to  make  me  a consideration 
if  I wait  that  time.” 

“ Why  don’t  you  give  up  the  bargain  ? ” 
asked  Mr.  Murdock. 

“ Well,  between  you  and  I,  I would,  but  it’s 
a mighty  good  one,  I think.” 

“ Perhaps  you  could  get  some  one  to  take  it 
off  your  hands  for  a reasonable  consideration.” 

“ I don’t  think  I should  be  hard  to  trade 
with.  I’d  give  up  my  chance  for  — say  — five 
hundred  dollars.” 

“ That  would  be  doing  pretty  well,  wouldn’t 
it ; five  hundred  dollars  for  a bargain  of  two 
thousand  ? ” 


266 


CARL  BARTLETT  ; OR, 


“ Yes  ; but  it  is  a four  or  five  thousand  dol- 
lar farm  for  twenty-two  hundred.” 

“ Is  the  title  good  ? ” interposed  Mr.  Ran- 
dolph. 

“ The  lawyer  here  says  it  is ; he  ought  tc 
know  ; ” answered  Mins,  looking  towards  Mr 
Murdock. 

“ I consider  it  perfectly  good.  The  land  has 
had  so  few  owners  the  title  is  very  plain  ; the 
records  are  clear,”  said  the  lawyer. 

“ I will  take  Mr.  Murdock’s  word  for  the 
records,  and  I will  give  five  hundred  dollars  for 
your  bargain  if  you  will  first  satisfy  me  that 
the  mortgagee  has  a right  to  sell,”  said  Mr. 
Randolph. 

“ To  be  sure  he  has.  There  was  some  talk 
about  a runaway  boy,  but  that  is  nothing  that 
touches  the  title.” 

“ I am  a little  precise  about  such  matters,  I 
believe,”  said  Mr.  Randolph,  “ and  I would 
like  to  see  Mr.  Downing’s  proofs,  the  ones  he 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


267 


Das  in  his  own  hands,  of  his  right  to  sell.  If 
I am  satisfied  with  them  I will  close  the  bar- 
gain.” 

“ When  ? ” 

“ This  morning,  if  you  choose.  If  you  and 
Mr.  Murdock  will  go  with  me  to  Downing,  and 
you  will  say  that  you  wish  to  see  the  papers, 
the  note,  and  mortgage  securing  the  note, 
allowing  me  to  he  a looker  on,  if  he  produces 
papers  satisfactory  to  Mr.  Murdock,  your  at 
torney,  I will  at  once  pay  the  five  hundred 
dollars.” 

“ When’ll  you  go  ? ” 

“ Now,  if  Mr.  Murdock  is  at  leisure.” 

Mr.  Murdock  was  not  pleased,  but  as  he 
had  no  valid  objection  to  offer,  could  not 
refuse.  He  went  with  Mins  and  Mr.  Ran- 
dolph, thinking  that  the  latter  was  much  more 
agreeable  as  a man  of  society  than  as  a man 
of  business. 

When  half-way  down  the  stairs,  Mins 


268 


CARL  BARTLETT;  OR, 


stopped,  turned  about,  and  spoke  to  Mr. 
Murdock. 

“ I don’t  know  about  this  ; he  can’t  get  me 
into  any  scrape,  can  he  ? ” 

“ I do  not  see  that  you  take  any  risk,”  was 
the  answer. 

The  color  forsook  Mr.  Downing’s  cheek, 
when  he  saw  the  three  men  step  up  on  to  the 
long  stoop  in  front  of  the  store. 

“ What  had  Mins  come  here  for,  and  with 
his  lawyer,  too  ? That  other  man ; who  was 
he  ?” 

Again  he  fervently  wished  this  job  well  off 
his  hands,  but  he  must  put  a bold  face  on  it ; 
he  was  in  for  it  now,  and  every  thing  might 
depend  upon  his  coolness.  Mins  walked 
directly  up  and  accosted  him : “ I thought  I’d 
like  to  have  Mr.  Murdock  take  a look  at  them 
papers  before  I took  the  deed.” 

“ Good  morning,  Mr.  Mins ; good  morning, 
Mr.  Murdock,”  said  Mr.  Downing,  and  he 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


269 


added  a ceremonious  bov  to  the  stranger. 
“ I hope  you  are  quite  m ill  to-day.  What 
papers  was  it  you  would  like  to  see  ? ” 

“ Why,  the  papers  about  that  farm  I was 
going  to  buy,  you  know.  The  note  and  mort- 
gage.” 

“ Well,  I can  show  you  the  note.  I am  not 
sure  that  I have  the  mortgage.  I will  get  the 
note  however.” 

Downing  went  to  the  small  room  where  the 
safe  stood,  intending  to  bring  the  note,  but 
Mins  closely  followed  him ; Mr.  Randolph 
and  Mr.  Murdock  brought  up  the  rear.  Mr. 
Murdock  stood  in  the  doorway,  while  Mr. 
Downing  unlocked  the  drawer,  and  took  out 
the  small  slip  of  paper.  He  handed  it,  with- 
out saying  a word,  to  the  lawyer,  who  turned 
it  over  and  carefully  inspected  it,  saying 
“ Yes,  all  satisfactory.  I know  Deacon  0»  Ed- 
win’s signature.” 

Mins  never  allowed  a sense  of  delicac;  to 


270 


CARL  BARTLETT  ; OR, 


interfere  with  a despatch  of  business ; now  ho 
was  impatient  to  hold  the  five  hundred  dollars 
between  his  fingers.  Why  should  not  he  lend 
a helping  hand  ? While  Mr.  Downing’s  back 
was  turned,  he  rapidly  ran  over  the  docu- 
ments in  the  drawer,  till  he  came  to  the  one 
labelled,  “ Mortgage  Deed  from  David  Good- 
win to  John  J.  Downing.” 

“ Here  ’tis,”  said  he,  reaching  it  over  Mr 
Downing’s  shoulder  to  Mr.  Randolph. 

The  guilty  man  turned  quickly  round,  and 
tried  to  seize  the  deed. 

“ What  right  have  you  to  meddle  with  my 
papers  ? ” he  cried. 

“ The  right  that  every  honest  man  has  to 
bring  a rogue  to  justice,”  Mr.  Randolph  an- 
swered. 

“ Now  you  see  this  won’t  do,”  said  Mins, 
seizing  Mr.  Downing  by  the  wrists,  and  forc- 
ing him  back  against  the  partition,  powerless 
in  the  hands  of  the  strong  ipan. 


WAAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


271 


“ I can  see  no  reason  why  you  should  ob- 
ject to  my  examining  this  paper,  Mr.  Down- 
ing,” said  Mr.  Murdock,  taking  it  from  Mr. 
Randolph.  He  opened  it  and  glanced  at  the 
margin. 

It  was  now  the  lawyer’s  turn  to  be  agitated. 
“ My  honor  is  at  stake  here,”  said  he.  “ This 
paper  is  not  yours,  Mr.  Downing ; how  came 
it  in  your  possession  ? ” 

“ What  is  it  ? ” asked  Mins. 

“ Here  is  the  acknowledgment  in  the  usual 
form  of  the  payment  of  the  note,  and  it  is 
signed,  4 John  J.  Downing.’  This  man  has 
no  more  right,  Mr.  Mins,  to  sell  Deacon 
Goodwin’s  property,  than  you  have  to  sell 
mine.  I ask  you  how  you  come  by  papers 
that  belong  to  Deacon  Goodwin,  and  not  to 
you,”  Mr.  Murdock  demanded  of  the  man 
who  had  sank  trembling  into  a chair. 

“I  — I — the  fact  was,  Josiah  was  drunk 
when  he  paid  the  money,  and  I thought  I’d 
take  care  of  the  papers  for  the  deacon,” 


272 


CARL  1ARTLETT  ; OR, 


“ Mighty  good  v jre  you  took  of  them  for 
him,”  said  Mins. 

“ Were  you  drunk  when  you  offered  the 
place  for  sale  ? ” asked  Mr.  Murdock.  “ I 
should  think  you  might  have  been.  I did  not 
know  you  to  be  a man  of  intemperate  habits.” 

“ He  wan’t  drunk  when  he  tried  to  get 
twenty-two  hundred  dollars  out  of  an  honest 
man,  for  what  was  not  worth  a straw,”  said 
Mins. 

“ I wonder  what  his  idea  of  honesty  is,” 
thought  Mr.  Randolph. 

Completely  bewildered  and  beside  himself 
with  terror,  Mr.  Downing  made  a feeble  effort 
to  escape. 

“Not  quite  so  fast,”  said  Mr.  Murdock. 
“ I shall  sift  this  mattei  • to  the  bottom.  I 
shall  take  measures  at  once  to  order  your 
arrest.” 

“ Oh,  don’t  expose  me,  don’t  expose  me,” 
implored  the  agonized  n an.  “ I’ll  do  any- 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


273 


thing  you  say.  I shouldn’t  have  thought  of 
it.  I didn’t  do  it.” 

“ I suppose  you  didn’t  try  to  get  twenty-two 
hundred  dollars  out  of  me.  Who  done  that, 
if  you  didn’t,  I’d  like  to  know/ 

“ You  have  not  told  me  yet  how  these 
documents  came  into  your  hands,”  said  Mr. 
Murdock. 

“ Don’t  expose  me,  sir,”  said  Downing,  in 
piteous  tones,  glancing  out  into  the  store  and 
turning  quickly  from  the  eager  looks  that 
were  bent  upon  him,  “ ’twas  all  Seth’s  fault.” 

“ Seth’s  fault,  was  it  ? I feared  as  much,” 
said  Mr.  Murdock ; “ then  this  is  more  than 
ever  my  business.” 

Mr.  Randolph  could  not  help  feeling  a 
gleam  of  pity  for  the  abject  man  before  him, 
and  a desire  to  shorten  his  sufferings,  much 
like  that  we  feel  for  a writhing,  mangled 
snake.  u We  should  be  more  quiet  and  less 
liable  to  observation,  I think,  Mr.  Murdock,” 
said  he,  “ if  we  were  to  go  to  your  office.” 


274 


CARL  BARTLETT ; OR, 


“ I’ll  tell  you  all  about  it,  sir,  only  don’t 
expose  me  here.” 

“ Come  along,  then,”  said  Mins,  taking  him 
roughly  by  the  arm  and  drawing  him  toward 
the  front  door  of  the  store. 

“ There’s  a door  this  way,”  said  Downing, 
looking  pleadingly  at  Mr.  Randolph. 

No  wonder  he  shrank  from  facing  partners, 
* clerks  and  customers. 

“ Where’s  your  hat  ? ” asked  Mins.  Down- 
ing pointed  to  it. 

“ Just  you  get  it,  will  you,”  said  Mins.  “ I 
ain’t  a going  to  let  go  this  chap  in  a hurry  ; 
try  to  swindle  an  honest  man  out  of  twenty- 
two  hundred  dollars.  That  the  right  one  ? ” 
and  he  took  the  hat  from  Mr.  Randolph, 
crushed  it  down  over  the  culprit’s  eyes,  and 
dragged  him  out  of  the  small  back  door. 

Mr.  Rigliter  looked  up  in  astonishment 
when  Downing  entered  the  office,  Mins  lead- 
ing or  rather  pushing  him,  Mr-  Mu  "dock  and 
Mr.  Randolph  following, 


WHAT  CAN  I DO? 


275 


“ Righter,  won’t  you  go  over  to  the  court 
house  and  tell  Downing  I want  him.  You 
can  stay  and  take  notes  of  the  trial  in  his 
place. 

“ Now,  Mr.  Randolph,  as  I am  a party  to  a 
limited  extent  in  this  case,  you  will  oblige  me 
by  putting  such  questions  to  the  culprit  as  you 
may  wish.” 

“ Very  well,  if  that  is  your  choice.  Mr. 
Downing,  will  you  answer  the  question  that 
has  already  been  put  to  you,  how  came  you  to 
retain  those  papers  after  the  mortgagor’s  ob- 
ligation was  discharged?  ” 

“ I didn’t  retain  them,”  replied  Mr.  Down- 
ing, rocking  from  side  to  side  in  his  chair. 
“ Josiah  Goodwin  took  them  over  to  Mr.  Mur- 
dock’s office.” 

“ How  did  you  procure  them  from  there  ? ” 

“ I didn’t,  I didn’t ! ’Twas  Seth  ; he  got 
them  from  the  office.” 

Mr.  Murdock  winced,  and  the  vision  of  the 


276 


CARL  BARTLETT  ; OR, 


white-haired,  man  whom  he  had  treated  with 
so  little  ceremony,  was  before  him. 

“ Seth,  that  is  your  son  ? ” 

“Yes” 

“ Shall  we  wait,  and  let  him  speak  for 
himself?”  asked  Mr.  Randolph,  turning  to 
Mr.  Murdock. 

“ He  will  be  here  soon,”  was  the  reply  of 
the  thoroughly  humbled  lawyer. 

Ten  long,  long  minutes,  they  waited  before 
Seth’s  footstep  was  heard  on  the  stairs  ; he 
came  up  two  steps  at  a time,  opened  the  door 
hastily,  approached  Mr.  Murdock’s  chair,  and 
offered  him  a roll  of  note  paper,  saying,  “ I 
should  have  come  before,  but  I thought  I’d 
hear  the  witness  through.  I thought  you'd 
want  the  whole  testimony.” 

Mr.  Murdoek  motioned  him  aside,  saying. 
“ I will  attend  to  that  some  other  time. 
Answer  whatever  questions  this  gentleman 
may  put  to  you.” 


WHAT  CAN  I D.O  ? 


277 


Seth  turned  round,  glanced  at  his  father 
with  an  expression  of  contempt,  understood  at 
once,  that  his  guilt  had  been  brought  to  light, 
and  uttered  a low  whistle,  which  he  followed 
with,  “What’s  up  now?  What’s  the  matter 
with  the  governor  ? ” 

“ Now,  Mr.  Downing,”  said  Mr.  Randolph, 
“ will  you  tell  us  how  these  papers  came  into 
your  possession,  after  you  had  delivered  them 
to  Deacon  Goodwin’s  messenger.” 

“ Who  said  he  ever  did  deliver  them,”  de- 
manded Seth  ; and  he  strode  across  the  room, 
shook  his  father  by  the  shoulder,  and  shouted 
in  his  ear,  “ Wake  up,  I say,  old  man  ; what 
do  you  let  people  bully  you  for  ? ” 

“ Young  man,”  interposed  Mr.  Randolph, 
“ if  you  do  not  wish  us  to  call  in  the  strong 
arm  of  the  law,  behave  with  some  degree  of 
propriety.” 

“ Who  are  you,  I’d  like  to  know  ? ” 

“ I am  David  Goodwin’s  counsel.  That  is 


enough  for  the  present.” 


278 


CARL  BARTLETT;  OR, 


“ Downing,  sit  down  in  that  chair,  and 
answer  when  you  are  called  upon,”  said  Mr. 
Murdock.  “ I can  have  some  pity  for  your 
father,  if  his  oldest  son  cannot.” 

“ I haven’t  any  pity  for  him,”  Mins  inter- 
rupted. “ Try  to  get  twenty-two  hundred 
dollars  out  of  an  honest  man.” 

“ Did  you  ever  hear  of  partakers  and 
thieves,  Mr.  Mins  ? ” asked  Mr.  Randolph. 

“ If  you  are  innocent,”  Mr.  Murdock  con- 
tinued, without  noticing  the  interruption,  “ I 
will  protect  you  ; if  not,  it  is  my  duty  to  place 
you  where  you  will  receive  the  reward  of  your 
deeds.  Sit  down  in  that  chair.” 

Seth  swung  himself  into  the  seat  indicated, 
and  did  his  best  to  retain  a bold,  unconcerned 
air;  if  his  prospects  of  advancment  in  that 
office  had  come  to  nought,  there  was  no  use  in 
standing  off  and  being  ceremonious  now ; but 
he  would  not  be  crowded  more  than  he  could 
help. 


WHAT  CAN  I DO? 


279 


Mr.  Randolph  repeated  his  question  to  Mr. 
downing.  “ How  came  you  in  possession  of 
those  papers  ? ” 

“ Seth  brought  them  from  the  office.” 

“ Where  J osiah  left  them  ? ” 

“ Yes,  with  Righter,  one  day  when  Mr.  Mur- 
dock was  out.  I should  not  have  been  in  this 
trouble,  if  it  hadn’t  been  for  Seth.” 

“ Now  see  here,  old  man,”  said  the  son, 
“ it’s  no  use  talking  that  way,  ‘ I shouldn’t 
have  been  in  this  scrape  if  it  hadn’t  been  for 
Seth.’  If  you’d  done  as  Seth  told  you  you 
wouldn’t  have  been  in  this  trouble.  You  was 
glad  enough  when  you  found  Seth  had  the  doc- 
uments, and  Josiah  was  gone,  and  you  thought 
you  wouldn’t  be  found  out.  If  you’d  had  a 
little  spunk  you  needn’t  have  got  into  this 
scrape.  What  did  you  want  to  own  right  up 
for  ? Why  couldn’t  you  look  up  saucy  and  say 
Josiah  never  paid  the  money?  It’s  no  use 
trying  to  do  any  thing  with  you. 


280 


CARL  BARTLETT  ; OR, 


“ Here,  Mr. I don’t  know  what  you  call 

yourself,”  Seth  went  on  addressing  Mr.  Ran- 
dolph, “ I’ll  tell  you  just  how  it  was.  I can’t 
stay  here  all  day  this  way,  and  you  won’t  get 
it  out  of  him  before  night.  You  see,  the  old 
man  was  pleading  poverty  one  day,  same  as  he 
always  is,  and  groaning  about  Uncle  David’s 
mortgage,  saying  he  couldn’t  get  it,  and  all 
that.  Well,  that  very  afternoon,  Josiah  Good- 
win comes  into  the  office  and  gives  Righter  a 
paper  for  Murdock,  and  the  same  minute  a man 
comes  and  calls  Righter  out.  Now  you  see, 
Righter  is  a regular  prig,  and  I never  knew  him 
to  go  and  leave  a paper  out  of  place  before  or 
since,  but  he  did  that  time,  and  I thought  I’d 
just  see  what  the  governor  was  about;  so  I 
was  just  looking  at  the  paper  when  Murdock 
came  along,  and  I couldn’t  do  any  thing  but 
clap  it  into  my  desk.  Murdock  locked  up  that 
night,  and  I couldn’t  get  a chance  to  put  the 
paper  back.  It  seemed  as  if  those  two  men 


WHAT  CAN  T HO  ? 


28) 


had  agreed  to  mount  guard  over  me.  I couldn’t 
get  any  chance  to  get  rid  of  that  mortgage 
unless  I’d  owned  right  up  I’d  taken  it,  and  I 
couldn’t  do  that,  you  know.” 

“ No,  I don’t  know  any  thing  of  the  kind,” 
said  Mr.  Randolph.  “ If  you  had  acknowledged 
your  first  wrong  step,  you  would  have  saved 
yourself  and  others  much  trouble.” 

“ Well,  I didn’t  any  way,  and  after  Josiah 
Goodwin  went  off,  I showed  ’em  to  the  old  man, 
and  he  wanted  ’em,  and  I let  him  have  ’em. 
I told  him  after  he’d  started  to  sell  the  place 
he’d  better  burn  up  the  mortgage,  but  he  didn’t 
do  it,  and  now  he  knows  whether  I was  right 
or  not.  He's  got  me  into  a pretty  scrape  too, 
and  I ain’t  much  to  blame  either. 

“ Don’t  you  see,  if  things  hadn’t  been  just 
as  they  were,  I shouldn’t  have  this  job  on  mj 
hands  ? If  the  old  man  hadn’t  tried  to  throw 
dust  into  my  eyes,  and  if  Righter  hadn’t  left 
things  laying  round,  and  wasn’t  such  a moon- 


282 


CARL  BARTLETT;  OR, 


struck  fellow,  and  if  Josiah  hadn’t  left  the 
note  in  and  then  gone  off,  I shouldn't  have 
done  it.” 

“ I see,”  said  Mr.  Randolph,  “ that  there 
never  was  a rascal  yet,  who  did  not  find  wick- 
edness ready  for  his  hand,  and  excuses  ready 
for  his  tongue  ; ” — he  was  about  to  add,  “ I 
cast  it  into  the  fire,  and  there  came  out  this 
calf;  ” but  remembering  that  all  such  allusions 
would  be  lost  on  Seth,  he  turned  to  the  father 
and  asked,  “ Is  that  account  correct  ? ” 

“ I think  so,”  was  the  reply. 

“ Oh,  yes,  that  is  correct,”  said  Seth. 
“ You’re  lawyer  enough  to  know,  I suppose, 
that  when  a man  gets  into  a bad  scrape,  he 
stands  the  best  chance,  to  make  a clean 
breast  of  it.” 

“We  will  dispense  with  your  legal  opinions, 
Downing,”  said  Mr.  Murdock. 

“ I believe  you  won’t  care  to  close  your 
bargain  with  Mr.  Downing,  Mr.  Mins,”  said 
Mr.  Randolph. 


WAAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


283 


“ I wash  my  hands  of  it,”  said  Mins,  who 
Dad  been  looking  uneasily  towards  the  door 
since  Mr.  Randolph’s  hint  about  partakers 
and  thieves. 

I don’t  suppose  you  want  me  any  more.” 

“ No,  I think  not,”  said  Mr.  Murdock,  “ but 
you  will  oblige  me  if  you  will  stop  at  the  court 
house,  and  ask  Sheriff  Evans  to  come  over 
here,  and  bring  a man  he  can  trust  with 
him.” 

“ Certainly,”  said  Mins,  “ very  happy  to ; 
and  he  made  his  escape,  though  not  till  he 
had  delivered  his  final  decision  to  Mr.  Down- 
ing in  this  form. 

“ You  ’ll  find  Shiretown,  too  hot  to  hold 
you,  depend  on  that.” 

The  sheriff  soon  appeared,  and  with  him  a 
broad  shouldered  man,  in  whose  grasp  Seth 
had  more  than  once  seen  a helpless  prisoner. 

“ Take  young  Downing  into  custody,  Sla- 
ter/’ said  Mr.  Murdock,  and  turning  to  the 


284 


CARL  BARTLETT  ; OK, 


sheriff,  he  added,  “He  will  remain  in  youi 
hands,  until  h Q can  be  brought  to  trial.” 

Seth  well  knew  that  active  resistance  would 
be  utterly  useless,  and  only  lead  to  exposure 
and  closer  watching.  Slater  looked  upon  his 
employment  as  one  in  which  high  art  might 
be  displayed,  and  was  wont  to  say,  “When 
the  prisoner  goes  ’long  stiddy,  why  then  I go 
’long  stiddy.  I keeps  my  eye  on  him  putty 
tight  though,  but  there  ain’t  no  use  layin’  out 
all  your  strength  when  you  ain’t  got  nothin’ 
but  a leetle  go-cart  to  trundle;  better  hold 
back  your  reserve  forces  till  you  need  ’em.” 
Seth  had  been  present  when  Slater’s  re- 
served force  had  been  called  into  action,  and 
knew  his  own  interest  far  better  than  to  cause 
it  to  be  needed  now ; so  he  walked  beside  the 
officer,  talking  of  some  casual  topic,  but  all 
the  while  speculating  whether  the  wits  he 
placed  so  much  confidence  in  would  not  help 
him  now.  The  two  reached  the  count/  W* 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


285 


without  exciting  the  curiosity  of  the  few  who 
met  Sheriff  Evans’s  deputy  in  company  with  a 
lawyer’s  office-hoy. 

The  ?/>n  disposed  of,  Mr.  Murdock  turned  to 
the  father  and  said,  “ You  will  go  to  the 
recorder’s  with  the  sheriff,  who  will  see  your 
acknowledgment  properly  recorded  and  cer- 
tified.” 

He  handed  the  officer  the  mortgage,  ex- 
plained briefly  the  state  of  the  case,  and  con- 
cluded by  saying,  “ When  the  business  is 
finished,  you  will  place  the  man  in  confine- 
ment, and  return  the  document  to  Mr.  Ran- 
dolph, the  mortgagor’s  agent.” 

Mr.  Downing  had  sat  silent,  aware  that  the 
chains  were  being  secured  about  him,  and 
that  he  was  utterly  powerless  to  cast  them  off. 
Now,  however,  he  gathered  himself  up  for  a 
final  effort,  and  said,  “ You  ain’t  going  to 
take  me  away  from  my  family,  without  giving 
me  a chance  to  see  them  once  ; do  remember, 
sir,  I am  a husband  and  father.” 


286 


CARL  BARTLETT;  OR, 


“ I can  send  a man  home  with  Mr.  Down 
mg,”  said  Sheriff  Evans,  sincerely  pitying  the 
wretched  supplicant. 

“ If  we  can  make  the  burden  lighter  for  his 
wife  and  children,  I should  be  glad  to  do  it, 
so  far  as  I am  concerned  ; and  I am  sure 
Deacon  Goodwin  would,”  said  Mr.  Ran- 
dolph. 

“ Very  well ; then,  Evans,”  said  Mr.  Mur- 
dock, “ please  to  attend  to  the  business  as  I 
requested,  and  we  shall  hold  you  responsible 
for  the  prisoner.” 

Evans’  regular  force  was  not  large,  and 
when  extra  demands  were  made  upon  him,  he 
was  obliged  to  call  in  assistants,  unaccus- 
tomed to  deal  with  men  whose  faculties  were 
all  called  into  play  by  the  desire  for  self- 
preservation.  It  was  not  strange  that  pris- 
oners sometimes  eluded  the  vigilance  of  these 
unpractised  officers,  and  made  their  escape. 

The  weather,  which  had  been  warm  and 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


287 


pleasant.,  changed  in  the  night ; the  vane 
veered  round  from  west  to  north-east,  and  a 
cheerless  storm  set  in.  One  of  the  storms, 
that  in  spring  and  fall  so  often  chill,  to  the 
very  marrow  of  the  bones,  the  dwellers  in  our 
treacherous  climate. 

The  night  was  dark,  and  the  biting  wind 
rattled  the  casement  and  dashed  the  rain  in 
Mr.  Downing’s  face,  as  lie  swung  himself 
down  from  a second-story  window,  and  groped 
his  way  toward  the  railroad-station,  where  he 
stood  cowering  under  a shed,  waiting  the 
coming  of  a freight  train  that  stopped  at 
Sliiretown  regularly,  about  two  o’clock  in  the 
morning,  to  take  in  wood  and  water.  When 
it  came,  he  clambered  into  a gravel-car  at- 
tached to  the  rear  of  the  train,  and  curled 
down  into  one  corner,  wet  and  miserable. 

The  train  soon  began  to  move,  and  Mr. 
Downing  thought  that  he  was  safe  at  least,  till 
he  should  reach  the  next  stopping  place,  but 


288 


CARL  BARTLETT;  OR, 


before  the  engine  was  fairly  under  way,  a hand 
was  laid  on  the  edge  of  the  car.  The  fugitive 
drew  himself  up  into  as  small  a compass  as 
possible  to  elude  the  supposed  pursuer,  but  tlie 
new  comer  tumbled  in,  treading  on  the  pros- 
trate man  in  his  hasty  advent. 

“ Hullo  ! what’s  that  ? ” he  muttered. 

The  father  recognised  the  voice  as  that  of 
his  eldest  son,  his  partner  in  iniquity.  “ Is 
that  you,  Seth  ? ” 

“What,  you  there,  governor.  Well,  that’s 
droll  we  should  both  have  taken  passage  in 
this  luxurious  vehicle.” 

“ Keep  still,  can’t  you  ; somebody  will  hear 
you.” 

“ No  danger,  the  cars  make  such  a racket. 
[ say,  governor,  how’d  you  get  away  ? That 
jail  ain’t  fit  to  hold  an  enterprising  baby,  if  it 
wanted  to  crawl  out.” 

“ I thought  I’d  got  rid  of  you.  I’ve  suffered 
enough  by  you  ; this  is  the  second  time  you’ve 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


289 


broken  up  my  business,  and  my  home,  by  your 
villainy.” 

“Now  see  here,  old  man,  you  needn’t  be 
blackguarding  me  so.  When  I was  a little 
shaver,  didn’t  you  tell  me  I must  be  smart 
and  make  money  and  get  the  better  of  folks. 
And  didn’t  I use  to  help  you  mix  up  things 
after  the  store  was  shut,  put  sand  into  the 
sugar,  and  meal  into  mustard,  and  all  that 
sort  of  thing.  I was  all  right,  this  time ; it’s 
you  that’s  broken  up  my  business  this  time. 
It’s  you  that’s  got  found  out ; you’ll  have  to 
learn  to  cover  your  own  tracks  better.” 

Ah  ! Seth,  if  you  are  ever  well  read  in  crim- 
inal law,  well  acquainted  with  its  workings, 
you  will  learn  that  the  precautions  taken 
against  detection,  are,  after  all,  only  mile  posts 
for  the  avenger.  As  the  pioneer  in  the  track- 
less forests,  blazes  his  way,  chipping  a frag- 
ment from  the  bark  of  one  tree  and  another, 
as  he  passes,  that  others  may  follow  in  his 


290 


CARL  BARTLETT. 


footsteps,  so  does  the  malefactor,  in  his  attempts 
at  concealment,  but  leave  guide-marks  for  the 
pursuer. 

Exposed  to  the  pelting  storm,  the  father  and 
s jn  exchanged  recriminations.  W e leave  them, 
homeless  wanderers.  The  middle  aged  man, 

“ Cover’d  with  cold  and  wrapt  in  wretchedness,” 

all  his  painful  savings,  all  the  muck  rake 
scrapings,  all  that  he  was  possessed  of,  left 
behind  ; even  the  name  that  was  his  in  help- 
less infancy  he  dares  not  take  with  him.  The 
youth,  verging  on  manhood,  his  prospects 
blighted,  his  plans  overthrown,  we  leave  him 
to  burrow,  mole  eyed,  in  the  tortuous  ways  of 
deceit  and  fraud.  Had  he  started  in  the  full 
sunlight  of  honesty  and  truth,  he  might  have 
run,  side  by  side,  with  the  fleetest  in  the  race 
of  life. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


^HEN  Mr.  Randolph  had  seen  Mr. 
Downing  and  Seth  safely,  as  he 
supposed,  in  the  hands  of  the  offi- 
cers, he  hastened  to  the  depot  to 
communicate  with  Mr.  Bartlett. 

Twenty  minutes  later,  Carl  and  Emily  were 
in  their  mother’s  dressing  room  helping  to 
unpack  the  trunks,  the  front  door  closed 
noisily,  and  almost  at  the  same  moment  their 
father  came  into  the  apartment  holding  in  his 
hand  a letter  which  he  gave  to  his  wrife,  but 
he  spoke  to  his  son,  “ Come,  Carl,  not  a mo- 
ment to  spare ; if  you  are  wide  awake  you  can 
lake  the  express  train.” 

Mrs.  Bartlett  read : 


292 


CARL  BARTLETT;  OR, 


“ Shiretown  Sept. . 

Despatch  Carl  by  first  train.  Job  5.  12. 

CARLETON  RANDOLPH.” 

“What  does  Carl  mean?  But  no  matter 
for  that  now/7  said  Mrs.  Bartlett,  “ we  will 
send  you,  and  then  we  will  see  what  the  rest 
means.  He  wants  you  to  come  to  him,  that 
is  clear.” 

Emily  had  found  "the  text  and  cried,  “I 
know  it  is  something  about  Uncle  David.” 

“Well  well,”  said  Mr.  Bartlett,  “don’t 
stop  to  talk ; get  a bag,  valise,  the  first  you 
can  lay  your  hand  upon  and  put  in  what  he 
must  have.  I ordered  a hack  as  I came  along ; 
here  it  is  now.” 

A few  toilet  articles  and  a change  of  linen 
were  thrust  into  a bag.  Carl  took  it,  gaping 
as  it  was,  and  jumped  into  the  hack  after  his 
father,  who  banged  the  door  to,  saying, 
k Fitchburg  depots  as  quick  as  possible.” 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


293 


The  haokman  drove  rapidly. 

“ What’s  he  going  this  way  for  ? ” asked 
the  impatient  Carl ; “ it’s  a great  deal  the 
farthest.” 

“ He  knows  ” said  his  father  “ the  streets 
are  not  crowded  this  way.” 

When  they  reached  the  station,  men  were 
jostling  each  other  at  the  ticket  office,  each 
eager  to  be  served  first,  for  the  “ All  aboard  ” . 
of  the  conductor  admonished  them  that  time 
was  precious.  Mr.  Bartlett  pushed  his  way 
up  to  the  window  and  called  for  a ticket  to 
Shiretown.  “ One  for  Shiretown  for  me  too,” 
came  from  behind,  and  an  arm  in  a rough 
blue  sleeve  was  thrust  over  his  shoulder. 

The  two  tickets  were  supplied,  and  father 
and  son  ran  down  the  depot,  closely  followed 
by  the  purchaser  of  the  other  ticket.  All 
three  got  into  the  rear  car. 

“It  won’t  do  for  me  to  stop,”  said  Mr. 
Bartlett.  “ I can  trust  you  not  to  go  out  on 


294 


GAEL  BARTLETT;  OR. 


the  platform ; look  out  for  your  uncle  when 
you  get  to  Sliiretown.” 

The  seats  were  nearly  all  occupied,  but 
Carl  found  one  beside  a lady.  She  got  out 
soon,  and  the  man  he  had  seen  at  the  ticket 
office  came  and  took  the  place,  saying,  “ You 
are  going  the  same  way  I am.” 

A slight  peculiarity  of  inflection,  a dim 
sense  of  something  heard  before,  caused  Carl 
to  look  directly  in  the  stranger’s  face.  His 
features  were  those  of  a young  man,  but  his 
expression  was  aged  in  its  anxiety,  and  his 
eyes  seemed  as  if  they  were  watching  intently 
for  something  in  the  far  distance. 

“ Poor  man,”  thought  Carl,  he  must  have 
been  sick.” 

Boys  are  seldom  unsocial  travellers,  and  the 
man  soon  learned  that  Carl  had  spent,  some- 
time the  past  summer  at  Clifton.  After  say- 
ing that  he  had  been  there  once,  he  asked 
many  questions  about  Clifton  people.  When 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  f 


295 


the  train  stopped  at  Shiretown,  Carl’s  atten- 
tion was  so  completely  taken  up  by  his  uncle, 
that  the  stranger  was  forgotten. 

“ This  way,  my  boy,”  said  Mr.  Randolph, 
going  to  a carryall  at  the  end  of  the  station 
house.  A gentleman  was  sitting  on  the  front 
seat  holding  the  reins. 

“ This  is  my  nephew  and  namesake,  Carle 
ton  Randolph  Bartlett,  Mr.  Murdock.” 

Mr.  Murdock  shook  hands  with  Carl,  and 
asked  him  to  ride  with  him.  Mr.  Randolph 
took  possession  of  the  back  seat. 

“ We  had  not  time  to  get  a lunch,  Carl,” 
said  he,  “ so  I plead  for  a hungry  boy,  with 
one  of  the  waiters.” 

“ That’s  jolly,”  said  Carl,  “ enough  sight 
better  than  that  dark  dining  room  at  the 
Shiretown  house.” 

He  opened  the  lunch  basket,  Mr.  Randolph 
handed  him,  and  found  cold  chicken,  apple 
pie,  bread  and  butter,  cake  and  a flask  of  milk. 


296 


CARL  BARTLETT;  OR, 


We  will  not  specify  the  exact  quantity  of 
each,  but  it  was  quite  sufficient  to  satisfy  the 
cravings  of  a boy  who  had  eaten  nothing, 
since  breakfast,  more  substantial  than  popped 
corn. 

They  had  not  ridden  far  before  the  trees, 
houses,  ect.,  at  the  roadside,  began  to  look  to 
Carl  like  old  acquaintances. 

“ I’ve  been  over  this  road  before,”  said  he. 
I know  it,  yes,  it’s  the  road  to  Clifton.  Are 
we  going  to  Uncle  David’s,  Uncle  Carl  ? ” 

“ You  are  good  at  exercising  the  Yankee’s 
ruling  passion,”  was  the  answer.  “ Mr.  Mur- 
dock and  I have  succeeded  in  finding  the  proof 
of  Deacon  Goodwin’s  right  to  his  home,  and  1 
sent  for  you  because  I thought  you  would 
like  to  be  the  one  to  give  it  to  him.” 

“ Your  uncle  gives  me  altogether  too  much 
credit,”  said  Mr.  Murdock ; “ it  was  he  who 
discovered  the  fraud.  I am  not  much  in- 
clined to  give  advice  out  of  my  profession, 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


297 


but  you  won’t  object  to  take  some  from  me 
to-day.  When  you  are  a man,  if  you  have 
the  business  of  others  intrusted  to  you,  don't 
let  your  sense  of  your  own  importance  prevent 
your  transacting  it  properly ; don’t  think  you 
never  can  make  a mistake.  Then  you  will 
not  have  to  do  what  I am  doing  now,  go  and 
beg  an  aged  man’s  pardon  for  treating  him 
brusquely,  and  for  rewarding  his  implicit 
trust  in  you  by  carelessness.” 

“ You  are  too  hard  upon  yourself,  Mr. 
Murdock,”  said  Mr.  Randolph  ; “ the  mistake 
was  one  that  might  have  happened  in  many 
an  office,  under  such  circumstances.” 

“ The  mistake  is  one  that  ought  not  to 
happen  in  any  office,”  said  Mr.  Murdock. 

The  two  gentlemen  told  Carl  all  there  was 
to  be  told  of  the  way  they  discovered  the 
papers,  and  of  their  long  concealment ; then 
Mr.  Randolph  gave  them  into  his  nephew’s 
hands.  After  that  the  boy  was  silent ; he  was 


298 


CAKL  BARTLETT;  OR, 


trying  to  compose  a speech  for  the  occasion. 
A great  many  long  words  passed  through  his 
mind,  but  they  would  not  fall  into  line,  so 
as  to  march  from  his  tongue  in  good  order 
and  single  file. 

When  they  stopped  at  Deacon  Goodwin’s 
door,  his  task  was  not  done  ; the  long  words 
ran  away  in  most  cowardly  style.  With  a 
single  leap  the  boy  sprang  to  the  ground,  ran 
round  the  corner  of  the  house,  found  Deacon 
Goodwin,  and  gave  him  the  papers,  saying, 
“ Uncle  David,  there’s  your  mortgage.  Josiah 
paid  it  just  as  you  said  he  did.  Uncle  Carl 
found  it  for  you.” 

“ What  bearers  of  good  news  you  and  Un- 
cle Carl  are.  You  were  well  named  Carl,  my 
noble,  spirited  boy,”  said  Deacon  Goodwin, 
taking  both  Carl’s  hands  in  his.  “ Where’s 
your  Uncle  ? ” 

“ Oh  ! I forgot.  He  is  round  at  the  front 


door  with  Mr.  Murdock.” 


WIIAT  CAN  I HO  ? 


299 


Mrs.  Goodwin  had  answered  Mr.  "Ran- 
dolph’s knock. 

“ We  brought  a spokesman  with  us,”  said 
the  gentleman  as  he  went  in,  “ but  he  has 
suddenly  vanished.  Ah,  there  he  is.” 

Carl  appeared  holding  Deacon  Goodwin’s 
hand,  and  talking  rapidly.  The  story  of  the 
recovery  of  the  papers  was  repeated,  and  Mr. 
Murdock  said,  “ As  the  gross  misconduct  of 
an  employee  of  mine  has  caused  you  all  this 
pain  and  anxiety,  it  was  but  due  you  that  I 
should  come  and  express  my  sincere  regret. 
I will  gladly  make  you  any  reparation  in  my 
power;  I suppose  you  are  aware  that  you  can 
recover  heavy  damages  from  the  perpetrator 
of  this  fraud.  I will  take  measures  to  bring 
a suit  at  once.” 

“ I would  much  rather  you  would  not,” 
answered  Deacon  Goodwin.  “ I thank  you 
heartily,  but  I am  quite  contented  to  be  left 
in  quiet  possession  of  what  is  rightfully  my 

own.” 


soo 


CARL  RARTLETT  ; OR, 


“ Money  would  be  no  compensation,  1 
know,”  said  Mr.  Murdock. 

The  front  gate  creaked  on  its  hinges.  Carl 
looked  out  of  the  window  and  exclaimed, 
“ There’s  the  man  that  came  up  in  the  cars 
with  me  ; he’s  coming  in  here.” 

* Mrs.  Goodwin  started  from  her  chair  and 
threw  her  arms  around  the  man’s  neck. 
“ My  son,  my  son,”  the  mother  cried  ; it  was 
indeed  the  long  lost  son  returned  to  his 
father’s  house.  “ My  son,  my  son,  I thought 
the  good  Lord  would  give  you  back  to  me.” 

thread  of  many  years 

Had  been  sometimes  soiled  by  tears, 

Knotted,  too,  by  cares  and  fears, 

but  Mrs.  Goodwin’s  love  for,  and  her  trust  in 
the  good  Lord  had  not  flagged ; they  would 
have  continued  unshaken,  had  He  never  in 
this  world  brought  the  wanderer  home. 

For  a few  moments  Josiah  seemed  to  forget 
that  there  were  others  beside  his  parents  in 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


801 


the  room  ; but  after  he  had  again  and  again 
embraced  them,  he  turned,  and  seeing  Carl, 
said,  “ So  you  are  the  boy  who  has  been  a 
better  son  to  my  father  and  mother,  than  I, 
their  own  flesh  and  blood  have.” 

“ I wish  I had  known  you  was  Josiah,”  said 
Carl. 

“ He  told  me  a good  deal  about  what  has 
been  happening  here  for  the  last  few  weeks,” 
said  Josiah,  “ and  the  rest  I got  from  Mr. 
"Wright ; he  brought  me  along  nearly  all  the 
way.  He  told  me  what  the  boy  didn’t ; who 
it  was  that  had  friends  to  take  up  for  my 
father  and  mother  when  I had  deserted  them. 
If  you,  sir,”  he  said,  speaking  to  Mr.  Ran- 
dolph, “ had  not  found  out  Downing’s  rascal- 
ity just  as  you  did,  he  might  have  destroyed 
the  proofs,  and  who  would  have  taken  my 
word  against  the  records  ? ” and  Josiah  shook 
hands  heartily  with  both  uncle  and  nephew. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

R.  MURDOCK,  fearing  he  might  be 
an  unwelcome  witness  of  family 
joys,  proposed  to  Mr.  Randolph 
that  they  should  start  on  their  re- 
turn to  Shiretown. 

“ I don’t  want  to  go  home  and  not  see  the 
Grays,  Uncle,”  said  Carl. 

“ Mrs.  Gray  is  not  expecting  us,”  said  Mr. 
Randolph. 

“ Oh,  that’s  no  matter ; she’ll  like  it ; she 
don’t  get  into  a snarl  at  nothing.” 

iff  think  we  will  trespass  on  Mrs.  Gray’s 
hospitality  to-night,”  said  Mr.  Randolph. 

With  heartfelt  congratulations,  Mr.  Mur- 
dock took  leave  of  the  united  family.  Still 

302 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


303 


Carl  lingered.  At  last  he  went  to  Josiah, 
and  taking  hold  of  his  arm,  said,  “I  wish 
you’d  tell  us  what  made  you  go  away.”  fl 

“ Perhaps  J osiah  does  not  care  to  tell  you 
that,”  said  Mr.  Randolph. 

“ I don’t  want  you  to  tell  me  if  you  don’t 
want  to,”  said  Carl. 

“ I couldn’t  say  no  to  any  thing  you  asked 
me,”  said  Josiah;  “I  can’t  say  it  would  be 
altogether  pleasant  to  talk  about  my  going 
away,  and  I don’t  suppose  there’s  any  danger 
of  your  getting  where  I did  ; but  if  I can  save 
you  from  sailing  at  all  on  that  tack,  I’ll  tell 
you  about  it. 

4 1 used  to  go  over  to  Parker’s  Mills  pretty 
often,  and  I got  acquainted  with  some  boys 
about  as  old  as  I was  ; they  worked  in  the 
factory  there.  One  afternoon  I was  over 
there,  and  one  of  the  fellows,  Ringold  his 
name  was,  asked  me  to  stay  in  the  evening 
and  have  a game  of  whist  with  them,  I told 


304 


CARL  BARTLETT;  OR, 


him  I couldn’t  play  whist.  ‘ Well,  euchre,' 
says  he.  ‘ I can’t  play  euchre,  either,’  says  I. 
‘.You  don’t  mean  to  say  you  don’t  knowhow 
to  play  whist  or  euchre,’  says  he ; ‘ come 
along,  and  we’ll  show  you  how  ; it’s  time  you 
knew. 

‘ The  first  time  I saw  Ringold,  I didn’t  like 
his  looks  at  all.  He  was  a short,  fat  fellow, 
and  had  a horse-laugh,  loud  enough  to  bo 
heard  from  one  end  of  the  town  to  the  other  ; 
but  after  I had  seen  him  a few  times-,  he 
didn’t  look  so  homely  to  me,  and  I got  used 
to  his  laughing.  This  time  though,  when  he 
laughed  at  me,  he  looked  uglier  than  ever ; 
and  if  I’d  done  just  as  I wanted  to,  I should 
have  gone  right  off,  and  let  him  have  his 
laugh  out. 

‘ I was  a fool  I didn’t  break  away  from  him 
then ; it  would  have  been  a good  deal  better 
for  me,  and  other  folks  too,  if  I had  ; but  the 
fact  was,  if  I did  despise  him,  I couldn’t  bear 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  V 


306 


to  have  him  laugh  at  me.  So  instead  of 
going  right  off,  as  I ought  to,  I stopped  to 
talk  with  him.  6 Oh,  yes,’  says  he,  6 1 see 
how  it  is ; you’re  afraid  of  the  deacon.  I’m 
glad  I ain’t  a deacon’s  son,  with  "the  whole 
meeting-house,  and  the  old  man  to  boot  at  my 
back,  chaining  me  up  in  the  way  I won’t  go. 
Nobody  dares  to  tell  me  I shan’t  shuffle  a 
•pack  of  cards.’  6 Nobody  tells  me  so,’  say* 

I.* 

“ I’m  telling  more  of  this  than  I should,  but 
I want  the  youngster  to  hear  it.  I don’t  sup- 
pose there  is  any  danger  of  his  getting  in  as 
deep  as  I did,  but  it’s  no  harm  for  him  to 
know  that  there  are  people  in  the  world,  ^ 
suppose  they  are  round  everywhere,  he  may 
come  athwart  ’em;  I say  it’s  no  harm  for 
him  to  know  from  a fellow  that’s  been 
through  the  mills,  that  there  are  people 
all  ready  to  laugh  him  into  mischief.  Aye  \ 
and  all  ready  to  laugh  at  him  after  they’ve 


306 


CARL  BARTLETT  ; OR, 


got  him  in.  Father  never  did  tell  us  we  must 
not  play  cards.” 

“ The  fact  is,”  Deacon  Goodwin  interposed, 
“ cards  have  been  the  devil’s  tool  so  often, 
and  have  helped  to  drag  so  many  poor  young 
men  down,  I didn’t  want  to  see  my  boys 
handling  them.” 

“ They  didn’t  handle  ’em,”  said  Josiah.  “ 1 
don’t  believe  there  was  one  of  my  brothers 
that  knew  any  thing  more  about  cards  than 
father  does.  I’ll  go  on  with  my  yarn.  I 
went. into  the  tavern  with  Ringold,  into  a side 
room,  where  there  were  some  fellows  playing, 
and  took  a hand.  It  wan’t  long  before  I un- 
derstood the  rules  pretty  well.  Ringold  amt 
the  other  fellows  said  I’d  make  a first  rate 
player,  and  before  I got  away,  they  made  me 
promise  to  come  again  the  next  night. 

“ It  was  late  when  I got  home,  and  the 
folks  were  gone  to  bed.  The  next  morning 
father  told  me  he  didn’t  like  to  have  me  out 


WHAT  CAN  i HO  V 


307 


so  late.  He  was  all  reasonable  enough,  but  it 
made  me  kind  of  mad,  and  I didn’t  say  much. 
When  it  came  towards  night,  I believe  I 
should  have  staid  at  home,  but  I felt  cross, 
and  I’d  promised  Ringold  and  the  other 
fellows  I’d  come,  and  I thought  they’d  laugh 
at  me  the  next  time  I saw  them  if  I didn’t,  so 
after  supper,  I slipped  out  and  went  over  to 
the  tavern. 

“ When  we’d  played  a game  or  two,  Rin- 
gold said  he  was  dry,  and  called  for  some 
ale,  and  we  had  a glass  all  round.  They  told 
me  again  what  a splendid  player  I’d  make, 
and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  Well,  it  went  on 
so  for  a while,  we’d  have  something  to  drink 
every  night,  ale  or  cider,  and  then  the  cider 
wasn’t  strong  enough,  so  they’d  put  brandy  in 
it ; then  it  got  to  be  brandy  and  no  cider,  till 
most  every  night  I’d  be  fairly  drunk.  Some 
nights  I’d  go  home,  and  some  I’d  be  too  far 
gone  to  go.  I used  to  wake  in  the  morning 


308 


CARL  BARTLETT ; OR, 


with  a headache,  and  I’d  feel  ashamed  enough 
of  myself,  and  I’d  think  what  a fool  I was. 

“ 1 was  pretty  sure,  from  some  things  that 
leaked  out,  that  Ringold  was  a sort  of  whipper 
in  for  the  tavern-keeper.  He  used  to  get 
what  he  wanted  to  drink  for  nothing,  if  he 
brought  a good  many  customers.  For  all  I 
thought  so,  when  it  came  night,  I’d  feel  so 
miserable  and  good  for  nothing,  off  I’d  go 
again.  Or  if  I did  stay  away  a day  or  two,  I 
couldn’t  look  any  body  in  the  face.  There 
was  once  or  twice  though,  that  I did  try  to 
give  up  and  get  rid  of  those  Parker  Mills 
fellows  altogether. 

“ The  last  time,  I stayed  at  home  for  a weea 
and  worked  on  the  farm,  but  the  work  seemed 
harder  than  it  used  to,  and  I didn’t  like  it  as 
well,  but  I stuck  to  it  for  a week ; then  I 
heard  father  talking  about  the  mortgage.  I 
told  him  I’d  go  over  to  Shirt  town  for  him. 
1 drove  over  there  and  paid  the  money,  and 


WHAT  CAN  I DO?  309 

left  the  mortgage  at  Mr.  Murdock’s  office,  and 
I never  thought  I’d  left  the  note  till  I’d  got 
half  way  home ; but  I thought  it  would  be  safe 
enough  there. 

“ I meant  to  go  right  home,  but  when  I got 
abreast  of  the  tavern  at  Parker’s  mills, 
Ringold  came  out.  I found  out  afterwards 
that  he  had  seen  me  when  I went  along,  and 
was  watching  for  me  to  come  back.  He 
hailed  me  and  wanted  me  to  come  in  just  a 
minute,  he  said.  I knew  he’d  been  drink- 
ing, but  I went  on  with  him  to  the  room  where 
I’d  been  many  a time.  I don’t  know  why  it 
was  that  it  never  seemed  so  to  me  before, 
perhaps  they  were  worse  than  common  H at 
night.  At  any  rate,  they  were  drunk  and  I 
sober.  It  had  been  pay-day  that  day,  and 
they  had  been  playing  for  money,  and  some 
of  them  were  quarreling  and but  no  mat- 

ter, I hope  my  boy  will  never  see  such  a place 


310 


CARL  BARTLETT  ; OR, 


“ I looked  in  a minute  and  then  I turned 
round  and  walked  off.  They  called  after  me, 
and  some  of  ’em  took  hold  of  me,  but  I shook 
’em  off  and  jumped  into  the  wagon,  and 
whipped  up  the  horse  till  I was  out  of  sight ; 
then  I let  him  walk  and  I thought, — but  I 
don’t  know  as  you  care  to  hear  what  I 
thought.” 

“Yes,  yes,  we  do,”  said  Mr.  Randolph, 
“ go  on.” 

“ Well,  I thought  here  you  are,  Josiali 
Goodwin,  you’ve  got  as  much  brains  naturally 
as  half  the  young  fellows  in  the  town ; you 
used  to  have  as  strong  an  arm  and  as  steady  a 
hand,  as  any  young  man  need  to  have  ; you 
never  used  to  be  ashamed  to  stand  beside  any 
young  chap  for  looks,  and  you  could  be  even 
with  the  best  of  ’em  in  any  thing  you  set  out  to 
do.  Now,  how  is  it  ? You  can  hardly  put  two 
ideas  together,  and  as  for  muscle  — I held  out 
mj  hand  and  it  shook  as  if  it  was  on  a spiral. 


WHAT  CAN  1 DO  ? 


m 


What’s  such  a wrist  as  that  good  for  ? What 
sort  of  a looking  face  was  that  you  saw  in  the 
glass  this  morning  ? All  puffed  and  bloated, 
and  if  you  meet  anybody  you  feel  any  respect 
for,  you  want  to  skulk  round  a corner,  so  as 
not  to  be  seen.” 

“ Just  look  at  what  you  are  giving  up. 
Mind,  strength,  nerve,  respectability,  all  your 
chance  of  ever  being  anybody  in  this  world, 
and  in  another  — but  I didn’t  want  to  think 
much  about  another  world.” 

“ And  what  is  the  other  side  of  the  bargain, 
Josiah  Goodwin  ? ” said  I to  myself.  “ What 
do  you  get  for  all  this  ? You’re  hail  fellow, 
well  met,  with  such  crew  as  you  met  to  night, 
that’s  the  other  side  of  the  bargain.” 

“ And  then  I thought  of  my  old  mother, 
and  of  the  tears  I saw  in  her  eyes  that  morn- 
ing when  I couldn’t  get  my  cup  to  my  lips 
without  spilling  half  the  coffee ; you  see  when 
I’d  been  drinking,  and  stopped,  I’d  shake  worse 
than  when  I’d  keep  steady  on. 


312 


CARL  BARTLETT;  CR, 


“ Then  I thought  of  my  father,  that  never 
said  a harsh  word  to  me,  for  all  I was  his  last 
child,  and  was  disgracing  him,  and  breaking 
his  heart. 

“ We  will  have  no  more  of  this,”  says  I,  “ it 
wouldn’t  be  any  worse  for  father  and  mother 
if  I were  dead  ; if  I can’t  be  a respectable  man 
here,  I’ll  go  away  and  stay  away  till  I can 
come  home  a man  that  nobody  need  be  ashamed 
of.” 

“ I went  to  New  Bedford  ; I thought  if  1 
could  get  a berth  aboard  a whale  ship  that  was 
going  a long  voyage  I would.  I couldn’t  get  a 
berth  there,  and  I went  up  to  Boston.  When 
1 was  there  I came  across  Downing.  I thought 
he’d  come  home  and  tell  he  saw  me,  for  he 
took  the  trouble  to  find  out  what  ship  I sailed 
in,  and  all  he  could,  but  I suppose  he  was  look- 
ing out  for  himself  and  not  for  me.  I didn’t 
speak  to  him,  because  I didn’t  want  to  answer 
his  questions.  He  thought  I didn’t  see  him. 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  > 


313 


1 felt  pretty  bad  then,  no  home,  and  no  friends.’’ 

“ Oh  yes,  Josiah,  you  have  always  had  home 
and  friends.” 

“ Yes,  I know,  Mother,  but  I had  thrown 
them  away,  as  I had  everything  else.  When 
we  sailed  by  Boston  light  I felt  the  worst.  I 
believe  I should  have  come  back  then,  if  I 
could.  I had  a pretty  hard  time  of  it  for  a 
tew  weeks.  I was  sick  enough,  but  there  was 
no  escape  from  duty  ; sick  or  well,  I must  take 
my  watch  on  deck.  I was  a land-lubber  and 
didn’t  know  what  I ought  to  do  and  what  I 
oughtn’t,  and  the  sailors  used  to  put  upon  me, 
and  laugh  at  me.  You  see,  Carl,  that’s  your 
name,  isn’t  it,  ’tain’t  easy  getting  away  from 
being  laughed  at.  I suppose  I did  look  doleful. 
I felt  bad  enough  any  how,  and  the  salt-junk 
and  hard  tack,  and  black  coffee,  wasn’t  much 
like  mother’s  meat  and  light  bread,  and  coffee 
with  cream  in  it. 

44  After  a while  I got  my  sea  legs  on,  and 


314 


CARL  BARTLETT;  OR, 


the  salt  air  I wasn’t  used  to  made  me  hungry 
as  a wolf.  I could  eat  the  biscuit  and  hard 
junk  if  I did  have  to  cut  my  meat  with  a jack 
knife,  and  I drank  my  black  coffee  out  of  my 
tin  cup  and  smacked  my  lips  over  it.  I got  so 
as  to  climb  the  rigging  with  the  spryest  of 
them.  I think  the  officers  and  the  crew  took 
a liking  to  me.  Some  of  the  men  said  I’d  be 
a first  rate  sailor  if  I’d  only  be  jolly.  I 
couldn’t  be  jolly,  I was  thinking  of  home  all 
the  time.  I used  to  keep  the  run  of  the  dif- 
ference in  the  bells  and  the  old  clock  at  home, 
and  I’d  think  what  was  going  on  there.  If  it 
was  six  o’clock  at  Clifton,  I’d  think  now  they 
are  just  sitting  down  to  tea.  If  ’twas  a little 
later,  I’d  see  the  sitting  room,  father  reading, 
and  mother  with  her  knitting  work,  and  old 
Tab  winking  at  the  wood  fire.  I couldn’t  be 
jolly  for  I saw  a good  many  such  pictures  as 
that. 

“ Well,  to  cut  a long  story  short,  we  made 


WHAT  CAN  I DO  ? 


315 


our  first  port  all  right,  then  we  sailed  for 
another,  and  we  were  wrecked.  I won’t  stop 
to  tell  you  about  that.” 

“ I should  like  to  hear  about  it,”  said  Carl ; 
but  Mr.  Randolph,  who  noticed  the  painful 
expression  on  Josiali’s  face,  interposed. 

“ Not  now,  Carl.  When  Josiali’s  sufferings 
are  not  quite  so  fresh  in  his  mind,  perhaps  he 
will  tell  you  about  them  ; you  must  not  ask  him 
to  now.” 

“ Well,  I can  tell  you  about  it,  but  I’d  rather 
let  it  be  now.  Everybody  on  board  was  lost 
but  six  of  us.  I hope  you  will  never  go  through 
what  I did,  but  if  you  are  ever  in  an  open  boat, 
with  nothing  to  shade  you  from  the  sun  right 
overhead,  without  a drop  of  water ; glad  to 
chew  a piece  of  your  boot,  crowded  into  a small 
boat  with  men,  so  crazy  writh  thirst  and  hunger, 
you’re  afraid  they’ll  put  their  knives  into  your 
throat;  and  you  daren’t  sleep,  or  if  you  do 
sleep  a minute  or  two,  you  dream  of  the  green 


316 


CARL  RARTLETT  ; OR. 


grass  you  used  to  play  on  when  you  were  a 
little  shaver,  and  of  the  well  bucket,  full  and 
dripping  over,  then  wake,  your  tongue  so 
swollen  you  can’t  keep  it  in  your  mouth : — 

“ I say,  if  you  ever  know  what  such  things 
are,  I hope  you  won’t  have  to  remember  a 
father  and  mother  whom  you  have  deserted  in 
their  old  age.  I hope  you  can’t  have  to  remem- 
oer  that  you  have  been  a coward,  and  let  boys 
you  despised  lead  you  by  the  nose,  till,  like  a 
coward,  you  have  run  away  from  them. 

“ I’ve  been  a coward  and  a deserter,  but  by 
God’s  help  I’ll  be  so  no  longer.  I’ll  stand  by 
my  colors.  I’ll  do  my  duty  as  well  as  I can, 
where  God  has  placed  me.  I have  done  what 
I could  to  make  as  good  a father  and  a mother 
as  boy  ever  had  unhappy.  Now,  all  I want  to 
know  is,  what  can  I do  to  make  them  happy  ? ” 
“ Come,  Carl,”  said  Mr.  Randolph,  u 4 early 
to  bed  and  early  to  rise,’  is  the  rule  at  Mr 
Gray’s,  I suppose  ; we  must  go.’' 


WHAT  CAN  I DO? 


317 


If  “ early  to  bed  ” was  the  rule  of  the  Gray 
homestead,  it  was  not  the  order  of  that  night. 
1 Is  occupants  sat  till  a late  hour  talking  over 
the  events  of  the  last  few  weeks.  After  a time 
Carl  relapsed  into  silence. 

“ I wonder  what  he  is  thinking  about,”  was 
his  uncle’s  mental  query,  a query  which  the 
boy  soon  answered,  in  this  wise,  u I used  to 
think  that  it  was  the  fathers’  and  mothers’ 
business  to  take  care  of  us  boys  and  girls  and 
Bee  that  we  had  a good  time,  but  I’ve  found  out 
Jiat  the  boys  and  girls  can  do  ever  so  much  to 
make  their  fathers  and  mothers  comfortable, — - 
ind  ever  so  much  to  make  them  miserable  too. 


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THE  WEALTH  OF  NATIONS. 

AN  INQUIRY  INTO  THE  NATURE  AND  CAUSES  OF  THE  'WEALTH 
OF  NATIONS.  By  Adam  Smith,  LL.D.,  F.R.S.  This  volnme  is  a careful  reprint 
of  the  three-volume  edition. 

ADAM  SMITH’S  ESSAYS. 

ESSAYS,  PHILOSOPHICAL  AND  LITERARY;  including  the  “Theory 
of  Moral  Sentiments,”  “The  Formation  of  Languages,”  “Astronomical  Inquiries, 
Ancient  Physics,”  “Ancient  Logic  and  Metaphysics,”  “The  Imitative  Arts — Music, 
Dancing,  Poetry,”  “The  External  Senses,”  “English  and  Italian  Verses,”  &c.  By 
Adam  Smith,  LL.D.,  F.R.S. 

MCCULLOCH’S  POLITICAL  ECONOMY. 

THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  POLITICAL  ECONOMY,  with  a sketch  of  the 
Rise  and  Progress  of  the  Science.  By  J.  R.  McCulloch.  With  an  Essay  on  In- 
terest, and  the  Value  of  Money.  By  John  Locke. 

MONTAIGNE’S  ESSAYS. 

THE  ESSAYS  OF  MICHAEL  SEIGNEUR  DE  MONTAIGNE,  with 
Kotos  and  Quotations,  and  an  Account  of  the  Author’s  Life,  translated  into  English 
by  Charles  Colton,  Esq. 

BOLXNG3ROKE  ON  THE  STUDY  AND  USE  OF  HISTORY. 

LETTERS  ON  THE  STUDY  AND  USE  OF  HISTORY:  “On  Exile,” 
“The  Spirit  of  Patriotism,”  “The  Idea  of  a Patriot  King,”  “The  State  of  Parties  in 
1744.”  By  Henry  St.  John,  Lord  Viscount  Bolingbroke. 

HUME’S  ESSAYS. 

ESS  AYS, —LITERARY*  MORAL,  AND  POLITICAL.  By  David  Hums 
(tho  historian). 

SIDNEY  SMITH’S  ESSAYS. 

ESSAYS,— SOCIAL  AND  POLITICAL.  By  Rev.  Sidney  Smith. 

MXLMAN’S  HISTORY  OF  THE  JEWS. 

HISTORY  OF  THE  JEWS.  By  H.  EL  Milman,  D.D.,  late  Dean  of  St.  Paul’s. 

HALL  AM’S  EUROPE. 

VIEW  OF  THE  STATE  OF  EUROPE  DURING  THE  MEDDLE  AGES. 

By  Henry  Hallam,  LL.D.,  F.R.AS. 

LOCKE  ON  THE  HUMAN  UNDERSTANDING. 

AN  ESSAY  CONCERNING  THE  HUMAN  UNDERSTANDING.  By 
John  Locke.  With  the  Notes  and  Hlustrations  of  the  author,  and  an  Analysis  of 
his  Doctrine  of  Ideas.  Also,  Questions  on  Locke’s  Essay,  for  the  use  of  students. 

D’AUBIGNE’S  HISTORY  OF  THE  REFORMATION. 

THE  HISTORY  OF  THE  REFORMATION  OF  THE  SIXTEENTH 
CENTURY,  from  its  commencement  to  the  days  of  Calvin.  By  J.  H.  Merlh 
D’Aubigne,  D.D.  Translated  from  the  author’s  late  French  edition. 

MILTON’S  EARLY  BRITAIN,  &c. 

BRITAIN  UNDER  TROJAN,  ROMAN,  AND  SAXON  RULE.  By  John 

Mieton. ENGLAND  UNDER  RICHARD  HI.  By  Sir  Thomas  More. 

THE  REIGN  OF  HENRY  VIL  By  Lord  Bacon.  Three  books  bound  in  one 
volnme. 

ESSAYS  ON  BEAUTY  AND  TASTE. 


ESSAY  ON  BEAUTY.  By  Francis  [Lord]  Jeffrey ESSAY  ON 

TASTE.  By  Archibald  Alison,  LL.D.  The  two  books  in  one  volume. 


Address  HURST  St  CO.  122  Nassau  St.  N.  Y. 


THE3  AMERIOAISr 

POPULAR  DICTIONARY 

CONTAINING 

EVERY  USEFUL  WORD 

To  be  found  in  the  English  Language,  with  its 
TRUE  MEANING,  DERIVATION,  SPELLING  AND  PRONUNCIATION* 

ALSO,  A VAST  AMOUNT  OF 

ABSOLUTELY  NECESSARY  INFORMATION 

UPON 

SfcVmce,  Mythology,  Biography , American  History,  Constitutors,  Laws , Land  Tides, 
Cities,  Colleges , Army  and  Navy,  Rate  of  Mortality,  Growth  of  Cities , 
Insolvent  and  Assignment  Laws,  Debts,  Rates  of  Interest , 
and  other  Useful  Knowledge , being  a 

PERFECT  LIBRARY  OF  REFERENCE  IN  ONE  HANDY  VOLUME. 

The  publishers  of  the  AMERICAN  POPULAR  DICTIONARY  claim  for  it  the  np- 

port  of  the  public,  for  the  following  among  many  other  important  reasons 

It  contains  EVERY  WORD  OF  THE  ENGLISH  LANGUAGE  that  enters  into  speech  or  writing. 
THE  SPELLING  of  each  word  is  precisely  that" given  by  the  best  authorities. 

THE  DEFINITIONS  are  compiled  from  a majority  of  the  best  writers  ofth  English  language. 
THE  PRONUNCIATION  of  every  word  is  that  settled  upon  by  the  ablest  masters  of  this  most  Im- 
portant branch  of  Grammar. 

In  addition  to  the  perfections  of  this  work  as  a Dictionary,  it  contains  a vast  amount  wf  information 
upon  MANY  KINDS  OF  USEFUL  KNOWLEDGE  not  to  be  found  in  any  similar  work;  but  all 
ABSOLUTELY  NECESSARY  to  every  one  who  wishes  to  be  acquainted  with  the  leading  subjects  of  con- 
versation and  composition. 

By  reference  to  tne  annexed  TABLE  OF  CONTENTS  it  will  be  found  that  the  book;is  really  a co*r 
eise  and  portable  Cyclopedia  of  very  useful  and  valuable  information.  From  it  a speaker  or  writer  caa 
glean  an  amount  of  real  knowledge  impossible  to  Qnd  elsewhere  collected  in  one  book, 

THE  AMERICAN  POPULAR  DICTIONARYis  printed  from  new  type,  with  extra  clear  and  legible 
faoe.  It  isjbouad  very  strongly  and  neatly. 

TABLE  OF  CONTENTS, 


1.  A Complete  Dictionary  of  the  Eng.  Language* 

2.  A Complete  List  of  Scripture  Proper  Names, 

including  Apocrypha,  and  their  pronuncia- 
tion. 

8.  American  Geographical  Names,  with  their  der- 
ivation, signification,  and  their  pronuncia- 
tion. 

4.  Nicknames  of  the  States  and  Cities  of  the  XT.  S. 

5.  The  Discovery  and  Discoverers  of  America. 

6.  The  Aborigines  of  North  America,  showing 

their  tribes,  location  and  number. 

7.  Early  Settlers  and  Settlements  of  the  United 

States— nationality,  location,  date, 

8.  Troops  of  the  American  Revolution,  c^ooWing 

the  number  each  State  furnished. 

9.  Battles  and  Losses  of  the  Revolution. 

10.  The  Declaration  of  Independence. 

11.  The  Signers  of  the  Declaration  of  Independ- 

ence, 

12.  The  Presidents  of  the  Continental  Congress, 

13.  Constitution  of  the  United  States. 

14.  History  of  the  American  Flag. 

15.  Area  and  Population  of  the  United  States. 

16.,  Population  of  all  Cities  and  Towns  in  the  U. 

S.  having  a population  of  over  10,000. 

17,  Growth  of  American  Cities  having  a popula- 

tion of  50,000  and  upward. 

1 8.  Public  Debt  of  the  United  States, 1791  to  1879. 
1;».  The  Amount  of  Paper  Money  in  the  United 

States,  of  each  denomination. 

20.  Analysis  of  the  Public  Debt  of  the  United 

States. 

21.  United  States  Public  Lands— where  they  lie. 

22.  The  Unifed  States  Public  Land  System. 

23.  Free  Homesteads  on  the  Public  Lands,  or  how 

to  secure  a homestead. 

24.  Homestead  and  Exemption  Laws  of  the  U.  S. 

25.  The  Canals  of  the  United  States — their  length, 

connecting  points,  number  of  locks,  cost,  Ac. 
f bound  ia  oleth,  gilt  back. 


26.  The  Municipal  Debts  of  the  United  States. 

27.  Theological  Seminaries  in  the  United  States, 

denominations,  professors,  students,  in  each. 

28.  Occupations  of  the  People  of  the  U.  S. 

29.  Army  of  the  United  States,  with  rates  of  pay. 

30.  Navy  of  the  United  States,  with  rates  of  pay. 

81.  Navy-yards  of  the  United  States. 

82.  Number  of  Men  raised  by  each  State  for  the 

suppression  of  the  Rebellion. 

83.  Churches  In  the  United  States,  with  statistics, 

84.  Price  of  commodities  for  the  past  fifty  years. 

85.  Statutes  of  Limitations  of  the  various  States. 

86.  Interest  Laws  in  the  United  States. 

37.  Insolvent  and  Assignment  Laws  of  the  differs 
ent  States. 

88.  Newspapers  and  Periodicals  in  theU.  S. 

89.  Heads  of  the  principal  nations  of  the  world. 

40.  The  Carlisle  Tables,  showing  how  many  per* 

sons  out  of  10,000  will  die  annually. 

41.  The  Railroads  of  the  World— length,  cost,  &e. 

42.  Commerce,  Debts,  Ac.,  of  the  principal  nations 

43.  National  Debts  of  the  various  countries. 

44.  The  Merchant  Shipping  of  the  world. 

45.  The  Dominion  of  Canada,  revenue,  trade,  Ac. 

46.  The  Armies  of  the  world, with  full  particulars 

47.  The  Navies  of  tho  world— numbers,  cost,  Ac. 

48.  Foreign  Gold  and  Silver  Coins — value.  Ac. 

49.  Weights  and  Measures  ofthe  United  States. 

50.  General  Councils  of  the  Roman  Catholic 

Church. 

51.  Chronological  History  of  the  United  States. 

52.  List  of  Mythological  and  Classical  Names. 

53.  Interest  Tables,  at  4,  6,  6,  7,  8 and  10  per  et. 

54.  Examples  of  the  Common  Errors  in  Speaking 

and  Writing,  with  Corrections. 

55.  A Guide  to  the  Pronunciation  of  Hard  Words, 

in  the  English  and  other  languages. 

56.  A List  of  Objectionable  Words  and  Phrase*. 

and  Inaccurate  Expressions. 

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magic,  Cuuj  ui  mg,  icgeiuemaui,  ouu 
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and  Complete  Horse-doctor.— The 
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es  used  by  the  best  taxidermists,  for  articles  used 
in  the  preservation  and  the  setting  up  of  animals. 
Illustrated. 


omplete  guide  to  all  kinds  and  forms  of  com- 
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dictionary  of  all  the  terms  and  technicalities  used 
in  commerce  and  in  business  houses.  Correct 
legal  forms  are  given  of  bills,  deeds,  notes,  drafts, 
cheques,  agreements,  receipts,  contracts,  and  other 
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GILBERT’S  BOOK  OF  PANTC - 
•Yilme*.  Acting  Charades,  Parlor 
Theatricals.,  and  Tableaux,  it  also 
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lid  something  to  write  at  once  eloquent  and  ap* 
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conqffete^  lett^vmter  a^esHmFge  nittemen. 

It  tells  how  to  write  a letter  upon  any  subject  out 
of  the  writer’s  “ own  head.”  It  also  contains  the 
“Art  of  Rapid  Writing”  by  the  abbreviation  oi 
longhand,  and  a “Dictionary  of  Abbreviations.” 
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. PRACTICAL  F^ACieSAffS 
find, ye n t r} ? o aulst’s  ,Cu ld^ 


ries  of  systematic  lessons  the  learner  is  conducted 


through  the  whole  field  of  magic,  conjuring,  and 
legerdemain.  There  are  also  given  complete  in- 
structions for  acquiring  the  art  of  ventriloquism. 


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that  no  one  can  fail  to  acquire  this  amusing  art, 
end  become  a proficient  ventriloquist  and  polypli- 
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deceptions  v 

vented,  including  the  latest  tricks  of  the  moat  cel- 
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and  fishing.  The  instructions  will  enable  any  ono 
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OUT  A™  ASTER.-  AIT  the  popular  dances 
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THE  AMERICAN  REFERENCE*. 

BOOK.— A manual  of  tacts,  containing  a chron- 
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occur,  whether  on  serious,  sentimental,  or  humor- 
ous occasions.  Including  speeches  and  replies 
at  dinners,  receptions,  festivals,  political  meetings, 
military  reviews,  firemen’s  gatherings,  and  indeed 
wherever  and  whenever  any  party,  large  or  small, 
is  gathered  to  dine,  to  mourn,  to  congratulate,  or 
to  rejoice.  Appended  to  which  are  forms  of  all 
kinds  of  resolutions,  &c.,  with  a great  number  of 


sentiments  and  toasts. 


, Theatricals  at  Home:  or.  Plays 

for  the  Parlor.  Plainly  teaching  how  to  dress. 


make  up,  study,  and  perform  at  private  theatrical 
parties.  To  which  are  added  how  to  arrange  and 


display  tableaux  vivants,  shadow  pantomimes, 
drawing-room  magic,  acting  charades,  conun- 
drums, enigmas, &c., with  explanatory  engravings. 


one 

card-games,  games 


0 , c __  , gai 

games  with  pen  and  pencil  Including  many  new 
and  all  the  old  favorite  amusements  calculated  to 
make  home  happy  e nd  set  the  youngsters  scream- 
ing wild  with  innocent  delight. 

Game.  Also,  how  to  preserve  and  keep,  fresh  and 
full  of  flavor,  fruits,  berries,  and  vegetables.  To 
which  is  added  complete  directions  tor  making 
candies  and  choice  confections. 


Fishing  with  Hook  and  L|ne.— Tbta 

: full  directions  for  catching 


book  gives  "plain  and  fulT _ 

all  the  different  kinds  of  fish  found  in  America* 
waters;  the  proper  season  for  fishing  for  them, 
and  the  bait,  tackle,  &c.,  to  be  used. 

Honest  Abe’s  Jokes.— A collection  4 
O’&kta&'C  jokeg  mA  squibs  e*  Abraham  LmcoBfr  J 


-M 


